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Give me strength; tag: hstaffs!
Topic Started: Dec 4 2011, 03:55 PM (194 Views)
Margaret Kingston
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late January 1513

There was nothing like a new year to bring upon ones' failures, disappointments, things that they had planned but never finished, or hadn't started at all, things left unsaid and stowed away as another regret that was apparently forced into a stalemate simply because the day, the year had changed. Not for Margaret. She did not forget a single thing, and instead carried them deep in her heart until they nearly froze the drumming muscle just like the snow had blanketed the courtyards and gardens of Hampton Palace. Walking through them, her toes nearly numb in her shoes as she stuck to any cleared paths of snow and ice, she could only dwell on what she had not forgotten. Winter had come and it seemed only her day of judgment was closing faster and faster in on her, for she knew with her brother gone, there was little place left for her here. What would happen to her once Princess Mary left for France? Would she have to return to her brother George and their farm in Gloucestershire, or would she be sent with the Princess? Neither of these options seemed entirely amiable, and though the shores of France still had her beloved brother, she was much too frightened of the idea of going anywhere near them. She would bid her precious Princess an affectionate farewell, but then where would she turn?

Frustration overwhelmed the young Margaret Kingston today. She had hoped a frigid stroll through the gardens would freeze off any ill tempers that plagued her, but it seemed to do just the opposite, and instead irritated her even more as she shuddered beneath her simple gowns and trumpet sleeves of a dark cream and green. They were hardly enough to bear against the cold, but Margaret was stubborn, and though her nose and fingertips were with red with chill, she crunched along through the courtyards and frozen shrubberies. Arms crossed, she refused to admit a stalemate to herself, and tried endlessly to wrack her brain for other options... options that did not include leaving Hampton Court. Her brother had called her here, had wanted her here, and though he was gone, surely that did not mean she had to leave? Oh, if only she had someone to turn to, to give her all the answers, but Margaret knew life had not been chosen for her to be easy. While the palace was filled with daughters of the nobility or privileged, she was one of the few that truly had very, very little... and she was ready to make more of it. William had come from the same loins as she, hadn't he? The same roots, the same blood? Surely she had just as much of a chance?

Margaret could not be so stupid. She knew the only thing differentiating her from William was, of course, her sex... and it seemed to be the one thing that kept her in such a miserable hole of inner turmoil. Her round, feminine jaw clenched with frustration as she walked onwards, her eyes cast blankly down to the ground and paying no mind to the few souls she passed. George would not write to her, she knew he hadn't the mind or foresight for this, and yet again she knew it would be up to her should she find any place back at her parents' farm. She tried so hard not to peep for help, not to glance at a single person for their guidance, partly because she had none and partly because her pride did not allow it, but even Margaret was human. Not only that, but some would still call her a child, and as she placed a heel on an unseen patch of ice, she felt quite a dejected child as she stumbled and slipped and crashed right to her side. For the first few moments upon lying in the snow Margaret stayed there, her striking pale blue eyes blank on the ground around her, as if in utter disbelief she had just slipped and fallen. But as the seconds passed and the cold seeped in through her gowns, the snow in her hair, the frustration boiling despite the temperature, Margaret could not help but suddenly burst into helpless tears. Sitting upwards, she hung her face in her hands and sobbed quietly to herself, so angry with the world, with the Fates, so angry that she could do nothing about it, and feeling so much hate for that goddamned patch of ice! Could the Lord not see she was hurting, she was almost lost, could He not see she needed help, a Fatherly hand.. not a painful fall to the ground! Crying, Margaret cursed beneath her breath and let her shoulders fall in utter defeat as she sat there in the snow, her gowns splayed out around her, crying into her little frozen palms.
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Henry Stafford
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Henry was slowly becoming tired of all the travelling and weddings he had to partake in, one in particular, his own sister’s wedding he was somewhat relieved was over and done with. He hoped his father would be contented with the match Henry had been able to make for his sister. One down and two to go and to think the youngest, Catherine hadn’t made it to court yet. No, Henry was not ready for her yet; she was safely tucked away out of harm’s way with their mother in the castle he had procured from the King. It wasn’t a grand castle, just a small one, but it was at least a home for his family. He was doing his best after the events of his father being accused of treason. He hated the fact that his father had to die for Henry to finally grow up and see the strain his father had all these years in raising his family into power and wealth. And Henry had to lose it all just to make sense of it. At least he had managed to get something back from the King for his efforts in France. It wasn’t much, but it gave him and his family just enough to keep on living. It wasn’t as comfortable as they were used to, but it was better than nothing they had before.

His sister Elizabeth at least had a better future ahead of her. He always knew she would do better with such a grand title and just simply being related to Norfolk gave her more of just a taste of a Howard’s wealth. Henry had put together a dowry for her and Norfolk had given the couple a manor within his county. Henry didn’t mind that his sister was to live in Norfolk; if she was truly going to be the next Duchess of Norfolk then that is where she should reside and get to know the area she might rule. But this still meant that Norfolk could request something of him, but after the talk with his good friend Wilmington he was sure that no one was going to push him around without his permission. He had been able to make a name for himself without his father’s Dukedom, and he had a wife back in Grantham who was with child, surely nothing could hold him back now?

Without his wife though, he was becoming rather lonely and forgetting for a moment the undying love he had for her that had forced him to give up his inheritance for her. Now that it was a year since their marriage and almost a year since his father had been executed, Henry couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right choices? If he hadn’t abandoned his father, would he have been able to stop such madness, or at least covered his act enough so he wouldn’t have lost his head? If that was the case then it made him realise that his actions might have been what robbed his family and England of a great Duke. He knew yes that his father might not have been stopped, but if he had been better at being his son, at being the heir to Buckingham, things might have been different.

As he thought about these things he walked through the gardens, having needed time to think or more importantly to try and clear his head. He knew now that he hadn’t deserved to regain his lost Dukedom, but there were other persons who did deserve their rightful titles back, namely his own cousin, Henry Percy. He hoped and prayed that between the cousins, Wilmington included, that they were able to persuade the King to return the Earldom to its rightful owner. Henry didn’t know how to do this though, except offering praise to Percy in company of the King; anything else though Henry was afraid of pressuring the King too much with the result of his own head being lost. No, normally he kept to himself when in the King’s presence and did the tasks set to him without complaint. He would just have to rely on William to come up with something, because after all, William had always been the better thinker. How many times he had managed to think on a plan to get them out of the trouble Henry always ended up leading them into to, Henry had lost count.

His thoughts though were interrupted by a soft shriek close by. If he hadn’t been as close as he was he might not have heard it. He looked up to watch in utter dismay, a poor woman having slipped and fallen into the snow. For a brief second he had thought it was his Renna, but she was still in Grantham wasn’t she? None the less, he rushed over to help and upon closer inspection saw that no, it wasn’t his wife at all. Crouching in front of her, Henry was patient as she sat there and cried. Careful and soothing he asked. “My Lady, are you alright?” It was a stupid question, but the concern in his voice and on his face proved that whatever this lady needed, Henry wouldn’t hesitate in assisting her in anyway he possibly could until she was safe and happy again. Not knowing if he had a right to, he lightly touched her exposed ankle, the one he guessed she had slipped on. “Does it hurt at all?” If she had sprained it, he had every intention to carry her all the way to her chambers, because his wife had turned him into such a gentleman, so surely Renna wouldn’t mind if he did it?
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Margaret Kingston
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Margaret did not even care if her gowns were wet or ruined, or even if her fingertips felt numb as she cried into her hands. Helplessness overtook her, wishing the princess was here to walk with her back into the palace, wishing her brother was here to laugh at her and pluck her from the ground as if a weightless token, even wishing the Lady Warrington was here to offer a smooth smile and a helpful hand. Yet, no one came, and Margaret knew she was silly for even thinking it... even so, this did not help stop the tears, and if anything the sobs exhausted the muscles of her back and shoulders as she silently heaved them. The cold caressed her in a way that was hardly comforting, and with her eyes shielded by her tear-stained palms, she did not notice or even hear the man that had approached and knelt in front of her. She continued to weep, merely waiting for the end to come... for the tears to stop and she could get bored with sitting here in the snow and she could make it back into the palace. And maybe, if she was lucky, she could leave her lethargy here, let it burrow deep in the ice and she could get to her feet without it.

That seemed almost obscure, though, for the tiny muscles in her face did not relax and when she'd finally opened her pale blue eyes to meet the man who had approached, they continued to fall with salty tears. A tiny jolt of surprise shook her shoulders and her eyebrows lifted above her gaze, widened now after seeing the stranger that had what, come to her aid? Her mouth, full and smooth, remained turned in a slight, unpleasant frown and she gave her head a subtle nod, denying everything that yearned to declare no, no I am not alright. Sniffling, her eyes fell to the hand he'd touched to an exposed ankle, having been sitting with a leg curled inwards and the other extended to the side, propping herself on an elbow and making not a single effort to move away from his fingers. The temperature of them, though, drew a tiny gasp from her throat, but despite her initial reaction, she realized that her ankle did actually hurt. Furrowing her brows, she touched her own hand to her ankle, as if a personal inspection would confirm any doubts, and let out a soft, feminine whimper beneath her breath. She could have cursed again.

"Actually, yes," she replied, her large, striking blue gaze fixated on her ankle, studying the slightly reddened skin and how sensitive it was to any pressure. She was only thankful this stranger had a light touch, and as she drew away her own hand from her minor injury, she realized the wintry temperate of both his fingers and the air around them did her ankle a bit of good. Bringing her eyes up to him, it was only then did she truly see his face, handsome and so charming when concerned, framed by a head of golden tendrils that did not seem to fit amongst the winter rot. A faint smile touched her lips and she took a small breath. "Thank you.. my Lord," she began quietly, her gaze falling back to her ankle and the hand he'd used to touch it if only for a moment. "The cold is actually nice," Margaret continued, her voice careful as if talking too loud would cause it to hurt even more. "I did not realize I had..." she trailed off and sighed, knowing her mind had been far off that she had even missed the sprain of her ankle. Thank God for this stranger, lest she get to her feet on her own only to be surprised by a sudden limp. "Thank you." Her eyes flickered back to his face and she smiled a bit more brightly this time, entirely surprised that a single soul had found her and had come to the aid she still wondered if she needed. Nevertheless, she was grateful, and was certainly ready to get out of the snow. "Do you suppose I can walk?" She asked, as if by sight of the injury could determine her own ability.
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Henry Stafford
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When Henry met those striking blue eyes he had to pause for they reminded him of the sea and he was sure he was drowning in them. So different they were from his wife’s green eyes and for the life of him, he couldn’t even think about Renna at that moment. He felt like a lad again, coming face to face with a beautiful woman the first time he actually began to ‘notice’ the opposite sex. Boys knew what girls were, but they didn’t feel that attraction until something in his brain just shot off in the opposite direction. He felt like that now, lost in those eyes of blue and completely forgot who or where he was.

Somehow, somewhere in his brain reminded him who and where he was. He was a Baron and the thoughts of a lad no longer applied. It had to be the touch of her silky smooth skin that had done it…and of course those eyes, that is why women could always win. It didn’t matter what a man thought, a woman could look at you the wrong way and you were hooked, well Henry was starting to be and he didn’t even know this woman’s name. Though it was her voice that brought him back to the moment, perhaps he was already missing his wife and he was more or less finding a replacement, another woman’s company until he could see her again. But while his hands itched to slide up those smooth legs, he mentally slapped himself out of his reverie and he was able to concentrate on his task at hand.

He regrettably tore away from her gaze to inspect her ankle again when she had admitted that it did actually hurt. Well there was only one way she was going to get back to her chambers safely. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about it, but the way he saw it, supporting her weight as she tried to walk just seemed mighty silly to him. It would just be safer and faster for him to carry her. He wouldn’t care what everyone thought, his goal right now was to get her back to her chambers. He smiled softly down at her and when he realised her cheeks were wet from her tears, he produced a small piece of cloth he probably didn’t realise he had, hell he would have offered her his sleeve if he could. He offered it to her, before he shook his head. “No need to thank me, I am just doing my duty.” It was up to a man to ensure the safety of the women right? When though she asked her question, he frowned a little and shook his head once more. “No I think it’s best you don’t, just in case. Do you mind if I carry you, or perhaps I could send for someone?” Perhaps she had a brother close by he could send word to and he could carry her instead and then he realised his lack of manners. With a slight quirk of his lips, Henry bowed his head to the damsel in distress. “Henry Stafford at your service, my lady, and may I ask the name of my damsel?”
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Margaret Kingston
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Just doing his duty. Very carefully taking the handkerchief from him, her eyes skeptical on his face, Margaret wondered just what this duty was. He did not look unseemly, far from it, and questioned if he meant duty to the king.. to his countrymen.. surely he did not mean he had a duty to her? To any other woman? Slightly confused, she put the soft handkerchief to one of her cheeks and carefully wiped away the cold and salty tears that lined it. Her eyes stung a bit, but distracted by the new presence, the sobs had ceased and her breath was returning to normal in and out of her lungs... yet, there was no mistaking the pain in her ankle. The stranger that had more or less come to her rescue seemed to be able to notice rather easily, and Margaret found herself wishing again for his cold fingers to soothe the swelling around the bone. Feeling it worsen as time passed, the young mistress knew she would not be able to walk very gracefully... she could see it now, hobbling back to the Princess Mary's apartments, sinking back into a sewing circle and doing her best to hide the discomfort. Margaret did not want any attention.

Nonetheless, there was a certain part of her that definitely needed it, and with the way this man asked to carry her, or send for someone else that could, she felt a little... awestruck? Could someone be so intent to help her? Raising her brows, she slowly lowered the handkerchief from her face and observed him closely, almost wondering if he was at all serious. Before she could answer, he had spoken his name and had called her his damsel in one easy, smooth breath, and it once more left her wordless. Glancing to her ankle and then back to him, a sudden, light giggle passed her throat and a soft smile took its place amongst her full, apricot lips. "I truly am a damsel, aren't I?" She retorted, giggling again and shaking her head, the tears gone and only ridicule left. "A damsel in distress." A small breath whisked past her lips, almost a forlorn sigh, and for a mere second her eyes dropped to the snow beneath his boots while thoughts seemed to overtake her. Was she really in so much distress? Why did it seem like such a hard question to answer... shouldn't she know? Shouldn't she be able to feel if she was in trouble? She certainly did feel as if she needed to be carried, but her entire life she had been accustomed to accepting those before her.. older than her.. knew better, even when it came to her person. Her parents, her brother William, even her brother George and most definitely the Princess Mary, all people that possessed every right, or once had, to Margaret's image.

"No, my Lord.." she began softly, avoiding to having to refuse him or his kindness. "There is no one." Her eyes did not water at the mention of this, and instead she spoke as if a mere, well-known fact. Perhaps word could be sent to the princess and a fellow maid of honor could be sent to help, but even that seemed unlikely. Not to mention the princess need not to be bothered by a news of a mere sprained ankle. Taking a breath, her wide, bright blue eyes implored the man knelt before her. Henry Stafford. "If you must insist that I be carried," she paused, as if reluctant towards the idea, "then it will have to be you, I'm afraid. Are you sure, my Lord, that you are up to the task?" Oh, how she felt so foolish now... sitting here in the snow, crying to herself, she was indeed crying out for attention. Or, at least, she knew that was the very image she had mistakenly created... and now? She was burdening a very stranger. "It is slippery here, what if you were to fall as well?" Margaret could only imagine the scene that would be. Another sigh passed her nostrils and finally her lips turned into a smile. "I am Margaret Kingston... a silly damsel, indeed."
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Henry Stafford
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Henry couldn’t help but smile down at the maiden he had come to aid. She was quite adorable he had to admit, and now it was ironic that he had first mistaken her for his wife. Not only did she look a bit like her, but her personality was a little the same too. He probably was caught staring at her a little longer than he should have, but finally he nodded with a hint of a smirk itched up in the corner of his lips. “Perhaps a little, but no matter, my Lady, I am quite accustomed to playing the knight, but I’m not wearing my armour today I am afraid, can you make do with cloth?” He of course was jesting with her, hoping to make light of the situation, because laughter was the best medicine wasn’t it? And once this lady felt a little better about herself, perhaps then he would be free to carry her back to her chambers.

He thought became a little disconcerted when she admitted that there was no one at court that he could go fetch for her. Didn’t she have any family at all? He was afraid to ask. But now he was glad that he had bothered to come over and offer her his assistance. No one, especially a lady should be left alone. And when she insisted that it would have to be him to carry her, he gave her a soft smile. “Not to worry my lady, all will be well.” He paused though when she asked if he was up to the task and he couldn’t help but remember a certain time when his wife had said much the same words. His eyebrows raised and he chuckled softly. “Do you normally put down a man, my lady, or perhaps you have not experienced it?” With a residing smirk he added with a nod. “I assure you, I am quite capable of the task, not to worry, I’ll be fine. Ready?”

He waited briefly again for her consent, before he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other wrapped around her back, his hand gripped at her waist gently as he hefted her up in his arms. He was careful not to drop her or slip on the ice as she had so warned and once he had her comfortably settled in his arms he began to head back to the palace. He gave her another one of his infectious smirks and nodded with politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my Lady, and not to worry, you’re not that much silly at all.” He was of course trying to be nice, but it was the truth that he couldn’t even imagine why she was silly at all. Slipping on a bit of ice didn’t make someone silly.

He carried her with ease through the gardens and back inside, heading towards the courtiers’ apartments, but as he strode down the hall, he glanced down and asked. “So where exactly am I taking you, my Lady?” Not only did he not know where her chambers were, but he wasn’t even sure if he was heading in the right direction. Normally some women shared quarters if they served another noblewoman or royal, so he was certain he may have already made a wrong turn, but no matter she wasn’t that heavy but rather light in his arms. He did his best though to not be affected by having the warm body of a woman in his arms. He had lost count of how many women or even girls he had carried to his bed…or wherever was the closest comfiest thing. This time was different, and he had to focus on his task, being her knight in shining…cloth?
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Margaret Kingston
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Henry Stafford seemed to have a knack, indeed, for playing the knight... for with each and every girlish giggle he stirred from within her, Margaret began to forget more and more about her sprained ankle. Her eyes, cleared of any tears but still a little red and swollen, brightened up at him with every word he spoke and with every smile he flashed, so very glad that there were in fact good souls out there. For a young woman who had very, very little, people like the man before her were people she truly needed to find herself accumulating for her lifetime. "I suppose cloth will have to do, my Lord, if it's all you have." She giggled again, her lips just barely parting to show a glimpse of her white teeth, but nevertheless the apple of her cheeks bundled and heated up with a light, rosy flush. Was this man really going to carry her? Thinking on it now, Margaret hadn't been carried since she was an infant, unable to use her own legs... not as if she could remember that, but she knew since her memory had begun storing itself, never once had she been hefted into the arms of another. And by a man, no less!

His confidence, though, was contagious, and any doubts of his capability swiftly vanished nearly as soon as they sprouted. Feeling a twinge of regret for having little faith in this stranger, she gave him a small smile and peered cautiously through her dark, thick eyelashes. "My Lord.." she spoke, barely above a whisper as if to pacify any offenses she had potentially made. "I do not mean.." oh, why did Margaret always find herself apologizing? Her brother William knew she was not immediately fit for court life, but she had been determined to prove him wrong... now, that excited confidence of a farm girl that had longed only to be with her brother in the spotlight had considerably waned. "I have not experienced many things, my Lord.." she softly assured him, hoping that maybe he would understand and her ignorance was merely blissful... not feigned. Blinking her large, round blue eyes, Margaret exhaled a small sigh past her lips. What should she say now? Should she commend his virility, should she assure him of trust in him and his strength? Sighing again, Margaret only cast her eyes to the snowy ground before flickering them back up to him the moment after. His expression was kind, handsome, but it seemed blatantly obvious he was waiting for something.. and with grin attempting to stifle a giggle, Margaret gave her chin a tiny nod.

"Please, whenever you are ready.." her eyes implored him as he drew close, watching the way he made careful observation of her body before he placed his arms in the according places. Around her back, beneath her knees, pulling her into a cradle against his chest. Feeling his warmth, the solidity of his body beneath his clothes, Margaret was actually quite thankful he was not wearing a suit of armor. How uncomfortable and cold that would have been. Wrapping her inside arm around his neck, she draped it over his shoulder and locked her hands, holding up as much of her weight as she could with her own strength. Even so, his movements seemed just barely hindered, not even the annoyance of her gowns seemed to bother him as they splayed out from beneath his arm and over her legs. With knowing steps he headed back towards the palace, progressing through the courtyards as if she was hardly there... in fact, she deliberated she could barely notice anything different about him, even with over a hundred pounds in his arms. There was maybe a slight clench to his jaw, a hardened line in his brow, but other than that, this Henry Stafford seemed more pleased than exerted with carrying her. She had been sure he would have thought her a fool, but yet, he shrugged off her self-ridicule with cool indifference; he didn't think she was a silly girl?

Margaret had hardly noticed when they were within the halls of the palace, heading towards rooms of normal courtiers. In his arms she did not see much of the walls or the furnishes, did not establish their position in the palace until he finally asked if he was traveling in the right direction. Suddenly piqued, Margaret tilted her neck and glanced around them, craning her head over his shoulder to see behind them. Trying to hide a smirk, Margaret's eyes flickered back up to his face and she giggled softly. "I think, my Lord," she began, pointing a finger in the opposite direction. "It is that way." Suddenly concerned, Margaret's expression smoothed and she reached a hand out to touch his chest. "I could walk the rest of the way, my Lord, you've gotten me out of the snow.. I think you would make me into a burden should you make another step." Despite her girlish protests, Margaret made no attempt to move or squirm in his sure, solid grasp. Instead, she merely waited to see if he would put her down himself. If not, well... she would enjoy the attention. Where anyone else would have called her a silly child, would have plucked her up from the ground and pushed her along, Henry Stafford sank to his knees in front of her and picked her up into his arms. Not for her to support herself, to hide her sprained ankle, but to actually allow herself to relax in his arms... no matter how much she feared she might break them.

"I share rooms with another maid of the princess," she informed with a small smile. "I do not think she will be there... Princess Mary is doing whatever celebrating she can before Lent arrives." Margaret nearly cringed at the idea of dancing, of leaping and hopping with a sprained ankle such as hers. Oh, how she hoped the princess would not send for her. "I believe the girl I share a room with would just prod jests and jokes at me, after seeing me with a limp." She could not help but chuckle herself, but even so, friends came few and far in between in the princess's household... and Margaret found herself gravitating most to the princess instead.
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Henry Stafford
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Henry flashed down a grin at his damsel in distress, she was quite adorable with all this giggling she was doing, but again she was reminding him too much of his wife whom he missed. But that was all the more reason to assist this poor woman, only a couple of years ago he would have taken advantage of a lady such as she. She clearly had no one to attend to her at the present moment, and hadn’t he heard her name before? Yes, a Kingston was killed during their time in France; he only remembered it because he had been a friend of Sir Anthony Knivert, whom of course was a close friend to the King. And Henry served the King most closely, having to attend to his documental affairs being his Secretary and all. He wondered if this Kingston was related to this damsel, though the question probably wasn’t if, but how.

He did not question her on it though, death was not a grand thing to discuss, and he of all people should know this. It was quite clear Margaret had little guidance here at court, confessing her lack of experience to the wrong man could attract all sorts of inappropriate things. Henry too felt a weird twitch within his mind at those words and he had to pause for a mere moment to ignore it. Instead of responding to her words, he gave her a polite smile, before he was permitted to gather her up in his arms. It felt a little strange carrying a woman who was not related to him in anyway, but for now he was all she had. He did his best not to linger on her form in his arms for too long, but when he felt her small arms wrapping around his neck, he again felt that twitch in his brain. If anyone came around to see them like this they would wonder what he was up to, his friend William though might have encouraged it, but no they were out of that stage weren’t they? All of their sexual adventures they had encountered in wherever they found themselves and with whichever girl or woman. Henry wouldn’t be surprised if they had forgotten many of those girls’ names. But he wasn’t going to forget hers, his damsel…Margaret.

How he had even managed to return to the palace he did not know. He wasn’t worried about dropping her, he was used to outside work and carrying a woman even with all her heavy garments was rather easy for him. No, it was the distraction of having a strange woman in his arms again was what might have deterred him from his task. He was relieved at least that he had the sense to ask where he should be taking her, before his feet decided to take them to his own chambers. He didn’t think she would like that. He instead focused on her pointed finger and he craned his neck back the way they had come. He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “I think my Lady you plan to lead me in circles.” He wasn’t really blaming her though, but before he could move another step he was conscious of her hand placed upon his chest. He stared at it for a moment, but was somehow able to tear his eyes away and meet her gaze instead. He smiled softly. “I wouldn’t be much of a knight if I could not carry you all the way, my Lady.” Having no intention to force her to walk on her sprained ankle, he headed back down the direction she had pointed and with her aid was able to find the right room.

He was a little relieved though that no one would be in her rooms to witness them like this, but then he was also a little worried of being in a room alone with her. Trying to put his concerns aside, he found the right bed and gently sat her down upon it. Again all he could do was stare, for how many times had he carried a woman or girl rather to bed? It was bad enough that her hair was the colour he preferred. If he had not gained responsibilities and learned how to be a bit more of a gentleman, he would seduce this poor woman before she even knew what hit her. Just like he used to do with all the girls, until they were putty in his hands and he could successfully gain pleasure from between their thighs. He though would never take unless there was consent; to him it was no fun otherwise. He gave Margaret a lazy smile as she crouched down in front of her, again taking her injured ankle in his hands, being careful with her as if she were an injured bird. “That seems a little harsh, perhaps she would only be jealous for not having her own knight to come to her rescue.”
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Margaret Kingston
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Margaret's cheeks had flushed a deep rose and her eyes could have nearly watered if it wasn't for his assuring chuckle. The last thing she had intended was to lead him in circles, and as if her day could not get any worse, she had done just that. Feeling enough of a fool as it was, Margaret almost squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp, wanting so badly to hobble out of sight and hide from her embarrassment. But as much as she had yearned to do just that, the young girl stayed right where she was in Henry Stafford's most sturdy arms, her body against the solidity of his as he carefully turned around and headed for her room. "I am so deeply sorry, my Lord," she replied softly, turning her eyes over to him, unable to help herself from studying the defined cut of his jawline, his muscled neck, the faint memory of where a dimple would take place should he turn his head and smile so closely at her. Her eyes widened marginally at the thought and she finally looked away, back down the halls they were headed easily down. She could not help but notice again how unmarred he was by her body weight and that of her gowns, and she could feel her embarrassment slowly melt away with gratitude to replace it.

"I will have full attention now, I promise," a tiny smile graced her lips and she shifted the arm she'd hooked around his shoulders, still holding a small portion of herself up by hanging onto him. If Henry Stafford was to be the knight he envisioned for her, then Margaret had no position nor choice to refuse him. After all, her ankle mightily hurt, and by the time he had reached her chamber door, she figured she would have just made it into the palace from the courtyard outside had she been left alone. Yes, she was indeed entirely grateful for a knight in soft cloth... Margaret supposed there could be mutations of the concept, and would come to find the shining armor had its time and place. Now, rather comfortable and with her ankle free of her burdening weight, Margaret knew it would not be now. She rather liked his clothes. Without letting the door's frame bump into any part of her, she smiled as this Henry Stafford brought her through and, seeing that her only maidservant was nowhere to be found, he sat her upon the bed and sank into a graceful crouch in front of her. Her eyes, wide and pale, followed him as he took her injured ankle into his cooled hands, soothing it and handling it carefully. She found she rather liked his touch, also, for being such a stranger.

Giggling at his reply, Margaret shook her head and brought a hand up to her mouth, hiding her smile. "Oh, Alice is not so insufferable. If one or the other were to be jealous, t'would be I." She said this lightly, almost with a shrug of her shoulders as she brought down her hand and glanced to her pained ankle in his hands. "I do not think she would need a knight," she continued, still looking at his hands and her slender ankle. "Her father is quite rich, so I have heard from other ladies... she would have a gallant steed to carry her back into the palace, no doubt." Margaret let out a breathless chuckle. "She even has a falcon. A falcon! She does not even go out and see it... I think she is afraid of it, actually." She giggled again but suddenly flinched, as if he had touched the wrong place of her injured ankle. But quickly recovering herself, she smiled. "I would take care of it better than she. But of course, should you ask her about it, she will pledge her love and devotion to the animal... she is very vain..." and perhaps was entirely insufferable, thinking on it now. But realizing the way she was talking rather incessantly, having already burdened Henry Stafford by having him carry her here, and realizing he was here in her own room, Margaret became suddenly very uncomfortable, as if she was almost too aware of her surroundings and the pain in her ankle. Swallowing hard, she shifted there on the bed, her eyes flickering to his face but quickly back down to to his hands. Her brows had furrowed if ever so in discomfort, but still, the coolness of his fingers was soothing.

"You are kind, my Lord," she said, unknowing of what else to say, "too kind. I could not possibly ask any more of you." Had she even asked it of him in the first place? Thinking on it now, she certainly hadn't, but still the guilt had not left her. "Please, before I break from selfishness.."
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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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[align=center]Mistress Leigh

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