Sanctuary of Roses

by Colleen Gleason

Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Madelyne's throat was dry, but she dared not ask for water. She swallowed, again, wishing for just a drop of something for her parched mouth.

  She'd arrived at Tricourten only a day before, but the hours that had passed since had been of such nighmarish quality that she dared not think on them. Instead, she allowed her head to fall back against the stone wall to which her wrists were chained. Her arms ached, extended as they were, and her fingers and feet had no sensation.

  Bruises from the rough handling during her abduction and subsequent travel thudded painfully whenever she moved. The memory of her father's fingers fastened around her neck, thumbs pressing into the soft underpart of her jaw until she swooned, caused panic to rush anew through her veins.

  Now, she watched fearfully as Fantin and his assistant Tavis, along with a pale priest, sat at a long, rough table in the underground laboratory at Tricourten. She had vague memories of this room from her childhood, prompted by the nauseating smells and evil-looking devices scattered throughout.

  She saw the way her father's fingers opened and closed, opened and closed, like the mouth of a beached fish. "She will serve God here, with me. But she cannot do that if he has touched her and got her with child!"

  "You must wait," the priest said to her father, his voice soothing. "All may not be lost. If she is not breeding yet, she can once again attain her pure state. "

  Fantin looked at her, and the expression in his eyes made her stomach heave. 'Twas not one of anger or evil. . . 'twas one beaming with love-the love of a father. A mad father.

  Prickles raced up her spine, covering her shoulders like a nasty cloak. "Aye. . . after we have exorcised every bit of Mal Verne's touch, and all thought of disobedience, she will be better prepared to serve. "

  Madelyne's stomach tilted. He referred to the day before when he'd beaten her with his hand and a thin leather whip until she collapsed on the floor, all bravado and strength disintegrating into blood and tears. She swallowed again, and closed her eyes against the tears. Gavin. She couldn't control the shaking of her body. It trembled against the cold, rough wall.

  "Think, my lord," Tavis was telling her father. "She has been wed with Mal Verne for less than a fortnight. . . 'tis only slightly possible that she carries his child. She may know the answer now. "

  Fantin swiveled toward Madelyne, his long face taut and white. "Do you carry that man's child?"

  She could not speak. The words would not form. Madelyne tried to respond, but nothing came from her mouth. Fantin surged out of his chair and stalked over to her. Planting a hand on either side of her head, he stared into her eyes. . . and what she saw there was enough to make her light-headed with terror. They were empty: cold, blue, steel. . . empty. . . with tiny black pinpoints in the center.

  "Do-you-carry-Mal-Verne's-child," he breathed, his stale, wine-tainted breath washing over her face. "Answer me, Madelyne, or I will pull that devil's child from you!" Quick as a flash, he brandished a thin, shining hook, waving it unsteadily under her nose.

  "I do not know," she croaked, forcing the words from her trembling lips. "'Tis possible. "

  Fantin's shriek rang in her ears, and she instinctively ducked as he pivoted away from her. His hands slammed onto the table in rage, then wooden bowls and metal goblets tumbled to the floor as he swept his hand across them, knocking them awry. "Now what shall I do?" he howled, picking up a mortar and pestle and pitching them wildly toward her.

  Madelyne did not move in time, and the wooden bowl struck her in the shoulder.

  "Master, master. . . . " Tavis's voice somehow reached through Fantin's insanity and served to redirect the man's anger. "We will simply wait until she has had her courses. . . and then you will know that she is ready for you. And if she does not have them in one moon's time. . . . " he cast a sly look at Madelyne, trapping her eyes with his, "we shall rid her of the bastard's babe and then you might be assured she is pure once again. "

  "And then, when she is whole again, wholesome, she will devote herself to my work-praying and fasting in the name of God. She will be my link to the Father, and with her, I will find the answer. "

  Darkness, thankfully, washed over her and Madelyne slid into oblivion.

  When she opened her eyes some time later, a man's face-one vaguely familiar-hovered near hers. As some of the cloudiness drifted from her gaze, and her mind began to focus, she realized that she was prone, on her back, and her arms, though still restrained, were not stretched as taut as they'd been.

  The man brought a cup to her mouth and water-cold, heavenly, life-giving water-dripped between her lips. Her tongue slipped out to capture drops of it, and he tilted the cup so that it flowed more freely.

  "Madelyne," said the man-an older man, of an age with her father, "I'm here to help you. " He had red hair streaked with white, and calm gray eyes.

  She tried to shake her head, but black spots danced before her eyes and she was forced to close them. It was an effort, but she forced a wan smile.

  "You do not remember me. . . but your mother knew me well. I am Seton de Masin. "

  When he spoke, the remembrance renewed itself in her mind. Seton: the man who'd allowed them to escape Tricourten during his night watch. The man who'd kissed her mother with more than a chaste wish of peace. The man who'd come to the abbey in search of them all those years ago. . . and who duly reported to Fantin that they were not there.

  "I cannot free you yet," he spoke quietly. "Fantin trusts me, and I must wait until the right moment. But I will do what I can to keep them from harming you further. I've sent word to Whitehall that you're here. "

  She tried to speak, to ask why. . . and he must have understood.

  "As yet, I have no way to get you out of here. . . it will take a bit of planning. I have waited many years for a moment such as this, for I knew it would come. Though I always thought your mother would be the one in danger. Please, Madelyne, try to be brave for another short time. . . I will never be far from you. . . and I will get you free as soon as I can. "

  She closed her eyes, hope beginning to billow within. "Gavin," she managed to say. "My husband. . . he will come. . . . "

  Seton was already nodding. "Aye, I know. I have sent the message to him at Whitehall. . . But your Mal Verne is a wise man, and 'tis likely he already knows you are here. "

  Madelyne remembered suddenly that Gavin was not free to come and go. . . . and despair washed over her. But she pushed it away. Seton was there to help. . . he had helped her mother before, and he would help her now. She made her mouth into a smile, and then drifted back into darkness.

  Camped just out of sight of Tricourten's guards, Gavin, his men, and Tricky conferred in the wood. They didn't need a fire during the day, and at night would keep it very small so as not to alert the keep-dwellers that they were near.

  "Fantin will be expecting us," Gavin commented. "We will be unable to gain entrance to the keep except by stealth. There must be a private entrance. . . but there is no way to find out. "

  His face felt tight and his eyes burned, gritty from lack of sleep. He'd barely eaten since leaving Whitehall-again, thanks to Madelyne for the robust meals she'd provided for him during his imprisonment, or he would be weaker. "He'll have his guards watch for a party of men attempting to come in. . . or staying in the village. He likely has scouts set out into the woods, here, as well, and so we must act before they find us. 'Twill not be an easy task to get into the keep, and I dare not besiege the place for fear he will escape with Madelyne. . . or worse. "

  Silence fell over the men as they digested this information. Their options were limited.

  "I'll go. I'll go in and find a way to secure entrance for the rest of you. They don't expect a woman. . . and 'twould be simple for me to pass as a serf or villager. "

  Gavin stared at the plump little maid. His first reaction was to dismiss her offer, but the steadfast earnestness in her eyes gave him pause. r />
  "Nay-you will not," Clem spoke angrily when his master did not. "'Tis too dangerous. We will find another way in. "

  Gavin looked from him to Tricky, a faint stirring in the back of his mind. . . but he thrust it away. "'Tis a ripe idea. I'll go with her," he said, nodding. "No one will expect mischief from a traveling husband and his wife-"

  "Nay, my lord," Clem interrupted. "I will go with her. You'd be easily recognized, and I'll keep this wench from getting into trouble. " He crossed his arms over his chest. "If the woman must go, then I shall be the one to accompany her. " He dashed a glare at Jube, who'd remained silent, and then returned a steady look at Gavin.

  "Very well, then, Clem and Patricka. We'll discuss it no longer, as time is of great import. You will enter the keep and find a way to let us in before the sun rises on the morrow. When you have ascertained your plan, you must send us a message that all is well and give us our instruction. How do you propose to do this?"

  "We shall meet with you at that oak tree," Clem pointed at a strong tree hidden from the keep by a small hill and scattered brush. "As the sun sets. "

  Gavin gave a short nod, his face tightening. Grasping the forearm of his man, he squeezed tightly and said, "Go with God. Fantin may be mad, but he is no fool-and he believes he is in the right. He and his servant Tavis will be watching carefully. " He turned to the maid, taking in the seriousness on her round, freckled face. "You are a brave girl to do this for your mistress. I'm certain that God will bless you. " He grasped her by the shoulders, squeezed, and released. "Be off. "

  He turned, walking from the camp. . . needing to be alone while he waited. . . helpless.

  Tricky and Clem arrived at Tricourten on foot. It would arouse too much suspicion if they rode in on a sure-footed destrier. He used a stick to walk, and affected a bit of a limp. They took care that their clothing was dirt-streaked, and Clem turned his tunic wrong-side out to hide the fine embroidery.

  For all their pains, it was no hardship to enter Tricourten Keep. As Gavin had expected, the guards paid little attention to a man and woman-their attention would be attracted to a party of two or more men. Clem explained in a rough voice and poor grammar that they traveled to an abbey where his sister-Tricky-was to serve a great abbess, and that they merely needed one night's lodging. The guards nodded them in with barely a glance.

  Tricky walked quickly alongside Clem, brushing against him as he limped along rather briskly for a man with an injured leg. . . but she forbore to point that out. She was as eager as he to complete their mission and allow Gavin and the others in. . . but at the same time, the excitement tripped her heartbeat up, and her nerves sang. And she was with Clem-who'd refused to let her go alone-who'd even ordered his master to stay behind so that he could accompany her. Mayhap the man was not so stone-headed as she'd thought!

  They made their way across the bailey, toward what appeared to be the main entrance to the hall, when Tricky suddenly noticed a familiar figure leaving the hall. "Rohan!" she gasped, whipping her hand back into Clem's gut. Rohan-the traitor-would most certainly recognize Clem. . . and quite possibly recognize her.

  Without a second thought, she grabbed Clem by the tunic and, using his own momentum, propelled him toward the wall of a building. He pulled her with him and she slammed into his arms, and suddenly their mouths were thrashing together. Clem moved, rolling along the wall, until she was pressed between his comforting bulk and the raw wooden planks of what smelled like the stable.

  At last, he pulled free and turned his head slightly to look in the direction Rohan had gone. "I'd forgotten about him," he said between breaths. "Bastard. I've half a mind to take care of him right now. . . . "

  "Nay, Clem," Tricky plucked at his sleeve, "we must find Madelyne. We'll need to be mindful of Rohan, but I wish to waste no further time. We must find her and find a way to get Gavin into the keep. "

  "Aye," he replied, returning his attention to her. His eyes bored into hers. "Tricky, do you not think you have escaped my wrath for this harebrained scheme. . . I will have words with you after this is all over. "

  She could not help but smile up at him, and ticked at his nose with her fingernail. "Clem, sweetling, I should be quite disappointed if you did not follow through on such a threat. . . a tongue-lashing from you should be only one of many such repercussions of our relationship. " Her coy smile and lilt to her voice sent a very different message than the one he must have expected. She swore his face tinged pink.

  But now was not the time to carry this further. Tricky and Clem agreed to separate, explore the hall and the outside of the keep, and meet back at the stables within an hour.

  "Have a care for yourself," he told her, his dark eyes boring into hers. Then, slumping over his big stick, Clem hobbled off to examine the stables and other outbuildings.

  Tricky entered the hall, and found that serfs had finished clearing the food and platters of the midday meal from the rows of table. She tried to blend into the activity by picking up a tray, and following one of the other serfs, but her attention was caught by the two men who sat at the high table.

  She paused, holding a wooden platter that oozed with grease, and looked at them. Tricky knew who they must be. . . Lord Fantin de Belgrume, the handsome man with the pale blond hair that rose from a widow's peak just off the center of his forehead, and his cohort: a slender, younger man with dark hair and soulful eyes who looked harmless. As she watched, de Belgrume laughed at some jest from his companion, and the beauty of his face, and the warmth of his laugh startled her. How could someone so beautiful be the monster that Madelyne feared so?

  Suddenly, the other man-Tavis, Gavin had said was his name-looked at her and their eyes locked. Panic rose into her throat and she turned abruptly to take the platter she still held, but a peremptory voice made her halt in her tracks.

  "You, there! You, with the red hair!"

  Tricky froze, her heart pounding so hard it threatened to choke her. She turned slowly, waiting to hear a call for the guards to come down upon her. . . but instead the man called again, "Bring my master that wine!"

  Thank the good Lord the man pointed to a table nearby that held several bottles of wine, else Tricky would have surely given herself away. With a quick bob of her head, she dropped the platter back onto the table where she'd picked it up, and hurried over to get the wine.

  Her hands were slick with sweat and she nearly tripped over her skirts when she approached the high table, but de Belgrume didn't appear to notice. He pored over a curling piece of parchment while Tavis rested his elbows on the table.

  "M-my lord," Tricky gave a brief curtsey and sloshed wine into de Belgrume's goblet. She was about to set the bottle down on the table when Tavis straightened up in his chair.

  "I don't recall seeing you before," he said, his dark gaze sweeping over her. He was a handsome man, with slender fingers and a sharp tone in his voice.

  She gulped, curtseyed, and stammered, "Me brother and I-we just become here this day. "

  A gleam that made Tricky's belly twist leaked into his eyes and he crooked a finger at her. "A shy one, are you?" He looked at her again, more slowly and with greater weight than a moment before. Tricky felt his attention pause at her generous breasts and then sweep over her hips and back up to her face. "You needn't be shy here at Tricourten. We treat our guests quite well. . . " he glanced at de Belgrume, who appeared to be in some other world, his lips moving as if in silent prayer, "unless they are family members. " Tavis smirked at Tricky and his hand snaked out to snag her sleeve.

  She allowed him to tug her toward him-what other choice did she have?-and this might be an opportunity to learn more about where Madelyne was. The next she knew, Tricky found herself settled on his lap. Mayhap she was foolish not to be afraid. . . but she did not believe anything Tavis might have in store for her would be worse than what Madelyne faced. Her resolve strengthened, Tricky managed a coy smile-subtle, for she did not want to appear t
oo eager-and managed to squirm her generous bottom invitingly into his thigh.

  "Family members? Aye, my lord, they can be trying ones can they not?" She purposely reached forward, brushing her breast near-but not quite touching-his arm as she grabbed the wine from where she'd placed it on the table. "Me brother is more bother than 'e's worth all the time. " She straightened up, "Wine, my lord?"

  He glanced at his master, and Tricky saw that the other man had begun to slump in his seat. "He'll rest for a time-he is weary from praying and fasting these last days. Now, soon, all will be aright, as he has found the answer to that which he seeks. . . aye, wine I'll have. And that'll not be all I'll be having," he added, his eyes fastened to her breasts.

  Tricky felt a roil of nervousness pump her stomach. Mayhap this was moving too quickly and she would find herself in a position in which she could not handle. . . best pull on a shy face for a time. "Of course, my lord," she told him. Rising from his lap-ostensibly to pour his drink-she shifted away and managed to remain standing and looking directly into his face.

  When Tavis would have reached for her, she stepped lightly back. "My lord, I must find my brother. . . . "

  "Nay, not so quickly. He is likely chasing some other wench," Tavis told her with a sly smile, "and will not even notice that you do not attend him. You may attend me for some time. . . it has been long since I've seen such a comely wench here at Tricourten. "

  "Of course, my lord. " She curtseyed again and watched as he drained his goblet. Mayhap if she plied him with enough wine. . . . She refilled his goblet as Tavis tugged her back onto his lap. Nervously, she glanced at de Belgrume. He had collapsed forward onto the table, his face planted in the center of the parchment that curled up around his ears.

  Tavis slipped his hand, quick as a wink, down the front of her chemise and Tricky nearly leaped off his lap. His fingers sought her flesh and gave a firm squeeze before he extracted his hand and tweaked her chin with the same pinch. "Very nice. 'Tis glad I am that you travel with your brother and not a husband. . . else it would be rather uncomfortable for him. " He smiled, and she was reminded of a wolf when she saw the way his eye-teeth gleamed.

  "'Tis said that he," she tilted her head toward de Belgrume, "studies the great physicks. . . do you assist him in his experiments?"

  Tavis drank more wine, slopping it over the side of the goblet when he set it down. With a quick glance at his sleeping master, he used a rag to wipe up the mess as he replied, "Aye, that I do. He is the master, chosen by God, to find the secrets of the ancients. " He chuckled a soft, eager laugh and slogged his hand across his mouth. "He has worked for many years to find the answers, and now he has put the last peg into place. We shall soon be more powerful than even the king. . . even the pope. And I shall be at my master's side. "

  She filled his goblet, noticing that the bottle was nearly empty. . . and knowing that she would need more. "You are?" she prompted, fluttering her eyelashes even as he spewed wine-laden breath in her face. "You must be so very smart to do such things!"

  "Aye, that I am. . . but my master. . . he is the gifted one. He is the one to whom God speaks. " He stood so quickly that he nearly knocked her backward. "Come. . . I will show you our laboratory. He sleeps and will not mind. " Tavis staggered over a dog lying beneath their feet, and cast another glance at de Belgrume. Gently, he raised the snoring man's head and settled him back in his chair, slipping a rolled-up cloak beneath his neck. "He must have his rest if we are to work this night," he explained, rolling up the parchment and slipping it under his arm. "I shall awaken him later, after you and I have had our. . . tour of the laboratory. "

  Tricky's chest tightened as fear and apprehension rose within her as Tavis closed his strong, thin fingers around her wrist and pulled her after him.