“Do you speak English?”
“Nay, my lord. Only Norman and French, my lord.”
“Prepare your lady now.”
Orrick shook his head—another problem. His people, other than his mother and her few ladies, spoke English and a smattering of other local tongues like Gaelic. Was English one of the languages Marguerite spoke? Surely it was.
There was no time to spend fretting over these minor details and so, confident that his orders were being followed here among the women, he returned to his own chambers and found his men efficiently preparing for their trip. Within an hour, his group was on its way out of Woodstock and toward northern England and his home.
If Orrick had known the problems he would face on the road, he might have delayed leaving after all. The weather conspired against them, slowing their progress with days on end of rain and wind. Although the hospitality of local lords was extended to them, his party was unable to travel quickly due to his wife’s condition. His wife.
Marguerite had not stirred from her befuddled state since their departure from Woodstock. His mother reported that she barely ate or drank at all, and spoke not a word to anyone, including the young maid Edmee. The lady cooperated and followed instructions, but did not do anything more than was asked of her.
Orrick stood from where he’d broken his fast and considered what could be done for the severe melancholia that had beset Marguerite. Although certain that the surprise of the wedding being accomplished and the realization of her situation caused it, he was also sure that the rigors of the road were worsening it. Now, with less than a day’s travel left, he felt a small measure of relief and hopefulness that once they arrived in Silloth and once the lady had a chance to accustom herself to her new life, it would all work out. Orrick also knew that, if needed, the village healer was accomplished in her skills.
At his orders, the lady was escorted to him and he helped her mount. His hands slid along from her waist to her ribs and he noticed the change in her form. Taking his place on his horse next to her, he guided hers as they made their way on the road west.
He called on his long-unused skills at diplomacy and court behavior and tried to engage her in conversation. His attempts were unsuccessful. He asked her questions about her family and tried to elicit some information from her about her life in Normandy. He failed. Even his efforts to describe Silloth and his lands and people met with no change in her empty expression.
Still, Orrick talked about what she would see, those she would meet and what was expected of her as lady of Silloth. He hoped some of it would seep through and she would gain some information from it that she could use on her arrival.
Passing by Abbeytown, Orrick rode straight for home. It was just before sunset that their group reached the village outside the keep. The enthusiastic greetings of his people made him smile. He had not realized how uncomfortable he’d been in Henry’s court until he caught sight of the open gates of his home. He urged his mount faster and soon they were before the steps into the keep. A glance at Marguerite revealed a gaze that was no longer empty. Now it was filled with horror and she looked around her and back at him.
Before he could dismount to help her, someone pushed through the gathering crowd and reached her first. Orrick did not react fast enough to reach her first. The tall, Scottish warrior lifted Marguerite from the back of her horse as though she were a child and held her out in front of him as he examined her from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.
Orrick leaped from his horse and stepped over to his friend’s side. “Gavin, put her down.”
“She doesna look very sturdy, Orrick. Are you sure she’s the right one?” His pain-in-the-arse foster brother’s evil grin told him that Gavin was enjoying the mischief he was causing. But the expression on Marguerite’s face, now gray with fear, concerned him more.
“Lady Marguerite has had a difficult journey, as have we all. Put her down so that I might escort her to the chambers.”
Gavin did lower her to her feet, but her legs gave out as she tried to stand. Instead of giving way to him, Gavin scooped her up in his arms and turned to Orrick. Marguerite pushed herself as far from her rescuer as she could manage and then did the most unexpected thing.
With a strength that belied her frail condition and petite size, his wife let out a scream that had most of those witnessing the scene grimacing in pain from its loudness and shrillness. Gavin, the instigator of this mess, did not shrink back from it at all. Indeed, he laughed out loud, nearly losing his hold on Marguerite as his body shook with the force of it.
Orrick stepped closer to try to soothe her, but her screams ended on a strangled cry and, as he watched, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head as she fainted.
“Mayhap she has a bit of pluck after all, Orrick,” Gavin said as he handed the lady over to him. “She’ll do.”
“You misbegotten cur of a—” Orrick began in a furious whisper.
“Hold your tongue, friend. I wanted only to welcome your wife to your home.”
“Damn you, Gavin. If that had been your intent, you would not have caused this fiasco in front of the entire village.”
Wasting no more time berating his friend, Orrick climbed the steps into the keep, calling out for his wife’s maid to follow and giving his own instructions as he went. By the time he’d reached the room adjoining his own, servants followed, bringing hot water, the lady’s trunks and food and drink. Orrick laid her on the bed and stepped back so that her maid could attend her.
Exhaustion of body, mind and spirit was overtaking him, as well. Now that they were home, this could all be sorted out. Obstacles that seemed so large on the road would be conquerable now. Orrick turned, deciding that everyone needed some time to rest and refresh themselves.
His steward and his mother waited in the corridor outside the chamber and neither looked pleased. He would hear his mother’s concern first then deal with his steward.
Leaning toward her, he asked her quietly, “What is it, Mother?”
Her answer, in a like tone, could have been shouted at him for the force it carried. “Is she carrying the king’s bastard?”
Orrick reeled back as though struck and he turned back to see Marguerite still prostrate and unmoving on the bed. ’Twas one scenario he had not thought of. Leave it to his mother to come up with it. Well, the truth of her condition would be known with her first menses or with its absence, so he may as well ask his mother now.
“Did she bleed on the trip here?” Orrick rubbed his forehead against the growing pain there. His mother’s tight-lipped grimace gave her answer. “I suppose that we must wait to discover that, then.”
His mother began to turn away, but with a hand on her arm, Orrick stopped her. Looking at one then the other, he commanded, “Say nothing of that suspicion to anyone here. If word gets out that she is breeding, I will know from whence it came.”
He released Lady Constance’s hand and held her gaze, waiting for her acceptance of his order. When she nodded, he added, “I suspect that the long journey has simply exhausted all of us and, with some good food and rest, we will all regain our senses.”
Both his mother and Norwyn, his steward, nodded again and began to leave, but there was one more thing he needed first.
“Lady Marguerite’s maid speaks no English. Can you find someone to help her? Her name is Edmee.”
“Doesn’t Marguerite speak it?” his mother asked.
“I fear I did not ask her that question when last we spoke. ’Twas not a concern of mine then. Now I suspect that it is not in Marguerite’s temperament to teach her servant even if she knows the language.”
“None of my ladies will play servant to a servant, Orrick. You must know that.”
The pounding between his ears increased and he was certain that his jaw would lock in the clenched position in which he held it for so long. His control was at an end, and just as he took a breath and prepared to let his displeasure show, Gerard spoke from th
e shadows.
“My lord, I could teach the maid.”
Orrick thought on this offer and realized that it was the only way, at least for now. “Fine, Gerard. Show her what she needs to know about the keep and teach her some of our words. Norwyn, she will need additional help, as well. Assign—”
Norwyn waved his hand at Orrick. “Already done, my lord. The chambers were made ready and servants were assigned to see to the rooms and to the lady.”
“Fine, then. I need—”
“In your chambers, my lord. Wine and food for you,” Norwyn answered. “Hot water for a bath is on the boil and will be ready shortly. And when you are ready, we can review my notes and your orders about the estate.”
He could not fault Norwyn for his thoroughness. The man had learned at his father’s knee about the duties of being steward and, although still new to the position here, Orrick had found him to be more than competent and resourceful in managing the keep, village and lands of Silloth. Surely the man could hold things together for a short while longer while Orrick bathed and ate.
Back in his chambers, after removing his mail, peeling the sweaty tunic and stockings from his body and sinking into the steaming bath that awaited him, Orrick waved away his servants. As he slid into the soothing heat, he wondered if anything about this marriage would ever work.
Chapter Five
Her eyes would not open.
Marguerite had tried for some unknown amount of time to force them, but her body would simply not follow her mind’s commands. Since every bone and muscle and place on her body ached with unrelenting pain, she simply decided that it was not yet time to awaken. The warmth of the chamber and the softness of the mattress upon which she lay pulled her back into sleep’s embrace.
The noises of a large group of people wakened her and this time she was able to open her eyes and sit up. Pushing her matted hair out of her face and stretching to remove the painful tightness in her back and legs, Marguerite looked around the large room and realized where she was.
Inside the black tower of Silloth Keep. This would be her prison for the rest of her life.
She slid from the bed and crossed the room to reach the one window in it. A seat with a thick cushion had been fashioned from the alcove surrounding the window and Marguerite sat down there, exhausted from just the few steps she’d taken to reach it. Examining the carvings that decorated the walls next to the window, Marguerite knew that this would be a pleasant place when the sun shone through the window and warmed it.
The walls are ten feet thick in the keep and it is one of very few stone-walled castles in northern England.
She heard Orrick’s voice as he told her of his home. All she could think of when she saw it for the first time was that it was once of the darkest and most primitive buildings she’d ever seen. With its square shape and unmarked towers, it looked sinister against the sky behind it.
It was built of stone to withstand the power of the sea over which it stands and the winds that buffet it constantly. A wooden keep could never survive the forces here on the cliff.
Thinking on his words, she leaned closer to the glass to try to see out, but the darkness outside thwarted her efforts. She would need to wait until morning before she would see the extent of her prison. Tears gathered in her eyes and soon streamed down her face.
Why had Henry done this to her? She had pledged her love to him. She had promised to obey his every command. She had given herself, body, heart and soul, to him. She had even acknowledged her sin of overstepping her place with her demands. And still, Henry had not relented in this.
Now, she was married to this northern lord and taken as far from Henry as she could be in his vast kingdom. What was to become of her now? Out of favor and out of the king’s sight, she would be forgotten in the wilds of England and never regain her place in the king’s household and court. And some newer, younger, richer, more beautiful woman would take her place in Henry’s life and in his bed.
The sobs grew within her and finally, unable to hold them in, she let them out. Sliding onto the floor, she laid her face against the cushion and cried out her sorrow and fears. And when the tears no longer flowed and she was even more exhausted from giving in to the emotions, she fell asleep as she sat.
The noises that woke her next were those of servants moving around the chamber. Marguerite opened her eyes this time to find the strong early-morning sun streaming in through the window and shining on everything in the room. And without remembering how she had accomplished it, she was back in her bed, covered by several blankets. Trunks filled with her clothes lay scattered around the chamber and two young girls worked under Edmee’s guidance in emptying them and putting her garments in the large wooden chest. Even though she watched silently, her maid noticed her.
“My lady. You are awake! Have we been too loud in our work? Your lord husband thought it might give you some measure of comfort to have all your belongings settled when you woke.”
“Is that what he thought?” she asked. It was exactly what was being done—her clothes were put away and her looking glass, her brushes and hair combs were all neatly arranged on a small dressing table next to the window. She wasn’t certain how she felt about it.
“I beg your pardon for not being here when you awoke last eve, but your lord husband ordered me to go the main hall and eat.”
Edmee continued to explain her absence, but all Marguerite could do was wonder how she had gotten back to the bed from the window seat. She looked at the two girls who went about their tasks without acknowledging the conversation. They did not understand their language!
“Edmee, do they not speak Norman?”
She watched as the two exchanged a few furtive whispers, but gave no sign of knowing that they were the subject of her questions. But before her maid could answer her, a knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened and servants entered carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water. With a method that spoke of efficiency, a bath was poured for her, platters of food placed on the table and those who had brought everything were gone without a word. Marguerite blinked several times, almost not believing that it had occurred at all.
The sight of Orrick in the doorway told her she had not dreamed it.
“My lady, allow me to welcome you to my home,” he said with a bow. He spoke English, which she refused to acknowledge. Not willing to lose all that she was, she gave him a blank look and waited.
“I had hoped, when I heard that you were gifted with the ability to speak and read several languages, that one of them might be English,” he said now in the Norman dialect of her homeland.
She gave a quick warning glance to Edmee so that her servant would not reveal her knowledge and then answered him.
“No, my lord. I speak my Norman dialect as well as langue d’oil and langue d’oc, Latin and some Greek and Italian. But I do not speak English. I am fluent in those tongues used on the continent, where I expected to live.” She aimed her words at him and his pride, hoping to remind him of how much this place was not a desirable location in the Plantagenet world.
If her sting was successful, she knew not, for he simply nodded and waved the servants out. Edmee hesitated for a moment but at Orrick’s dark expression, she curtsied and left with the others. Then he closed the door.
“My lady,” he began as he approached her, “with your obvious gift for spoken languages, I would ask that you learn the one that is mine and my people’s. As their lady, you will need to converse with them.”
“I will not be here long enough to worry about such a thing,” she blurted out. There was a part of her that still believed that Henry was simply drawing out the lesson he taught her and that he had not abandoned her at all.
Lord Orrick stalked her across the room and towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head if she wished to look into his eyes. She did not, so she lowered her chin and turned her head away. All it took on his part was two fingers under her chin and she faced him in spite of her de
cision not to. He was as strong as he looked, and fighting him would simply leave her bruised, something she did not wish to experience.
“I had hoped that when you awoke from your melancholy state and, after you regained your strength from the long ordeal of journeying almost the length of England to get here, you would realize the folly of your belief. Be clear on this matter—Henry has rid himself of you. He has graciously, as only kings can do, taken his problem and made it my own.”
He could not have hurt her more if he had delivered the blow with his hand instead of his words. He understood her deepest fear and her deepest desire and used it against her. Marguerite willed the tears not to gather again, but her efforts were unsuccessful. All she could do was look away from his gaze.
He released her and stepped back. She dared a glance at him now that there was some distance between them. Although his voice had softened with his horrible words, his face and eyes had hardened.
“Marguerite, there is much we will need to work out between us, but there will be time for that. For now, refresh yourself and rest.” He pointed to the tub and the food. “Join me at the evening meal in the hall and I will present you to your people.”
He did not wait for a response from her, which was probably a smart thing on his part. So many thoughts, so many replies were racing through her mind that she could not have chosen only one as an answer to his request.
Marguerite knew only she did not want to be here. She did not want to be married to Orrick. She wanted to return to the court and seek to repair the damage done between her and the king. But for now, she must bide her time and plan an escape from this unbearable place and marriage.
Orrick pulled open the door and called to her servants to assist her. As they hurried into the room to do her bidding, she caught Orrick’s gaze for a moment. The pity she saw there struck at her and she resolved to remove it. Any other emotion was acceptable—anger, disappointment, even hatred. But not pity.
The King's Mistress Page 4
