Drawing back enough to look at her, he saw that her eyes were closed. He kissed her over and over until they were breathless with deep, wet, hot kisses. Kisses filled with the desire he felt for her. Kisses filled with the hopes and dreams he allowed himself to think about when she was near. With her body between him and the door of the workroom, he pressed against her and let her feel what his desire for her did to him. She was no virgin. She knew the desire she roused in him. All she had to do was say yes and he would join with her.
Suddenly he realized that he was trying to seduce his wife against the door in a hallway. Orrick stepped back and Marguerite followed him. Lifting her hands from him, Orrick tried to rearrange her veil before it tumbled from her head. The damn thing did fall off when the door to the workroom was pulled open from the inside and they both lost their balance and stumbled into the chamber.
“My lord. My lady. Come in and be welcome,” Brother Wilfrid said. “I did not hear you knock at first, but you must know that my door is always open to you.”
Orrick caught Marguerite’s gaze and they both laughed at the situation and at what must have made the noise that Wilfrid interpreted as a knock on his door. She gained her footing and replaced her head-piece without his further assistance. He knew the time was at hand for him to retreat so he nodded to them both and stepped into the corridor.
“And my lady?” He waited until she faced him. “My door is always open to you.”
She blushed at his words. Good. That meant she understood his invitation. With another nod to the monk, he left.
Every night for the next fortnight, he left the door between their chambers ajar. Even when her monthly time arrived again and she needed the sleeping draught from his mother, he kept it open, hoping she would seek simple comfort with him. But she did not.
They ate meals together, saw each other throughout the days, but their encounters were polite and brief. She never left the keep and yard and never visited the village. She continued to work with Wilfrid, spent some hours in his mother’s solar with her and the women working on the new tapestry for the hall and in all respects save one was an appropriate wife.
Although he knew that his mother had offered and encouraged Marguerite to take her rightful place as lady of Silloth, Marguerite stood back and did not become involved in the running of the keep or the village. The harvest approached and ’twas his mother and Norwyn who oversaw the preparations to bring in the crops, salt fish and meat, and stock up on food and supplies for the coming winter.
Orrick waited for his men to return from Normandy. He hoped that the information they brought back would help him break this impasse with Marguerite. But after a month with no word from them, his optimism began to fail.
The sea became too cold and too rough for his daily swims and Gavin refused to meet him in the yard, so he had no outlet for the tension that grew within him. Ardys made it clear that, married or not, he was still welcome in her bed, but Orrick’s feelings for the attractive widow had changed with his marriage. The woman he wanted slept only a few yards from him each night and she would not take the step to bridge that short distance.
So, when he no longer believed his efforts to make her part of his life were successful, he relented and sought out the widow’s company in the village. After Marguerite retired for the night, he and Gavin made their way there.
Chapter Fourteen
Marguerite startled awake in the middle of the night. She could not ignore the incessant knocking coming from Orrick’s room. Sliding from her bed, she tugged on a robe and went to the door between their chambers. ’Twas open as was his custom since he made his invitation and intention clear to her. Pushing it farther, the knocking was louder.
She spoke his name as she walked in, but no one was in the room. His bed was empty and the coverings were not disturbed. He had not been to bed yet? Looking around, she saw there was no sign of his recent presence in the room. As the knocking continued, she pulled the door open to face the surprised expressions of Norwyn and three of Orrick’s men. They looked as though they had traveled long and hard to get here and their disappointment at not finding their lord was clear.
“Is Lord Orrick within, my lady?” Norwyn asked even as he peered around her into the chamber. “It is important that these men speak to him.”
“He is not here, Norwyn,” she said, stepping out of his way. He seemed to distrust her answer so she opened the door farther to let him see. “And I know not where he is.”
The men looked at each other and then at her. Orrick answered not to her or to anyone else here. They bowed to her and were about to leave when Lady Constance arrived. Norwyn whispered to her and the lady answered the same way. With a cursory glance at her, Norwyn and the men followed Orrick’s mother down the hall.
Ardys.
In the village.
She nearly missed the words for they were spoken so softly and not meant for her to hear. Who was Ardys? Where could Orrick be? If not in his chambers, where was he? Mayhap somewhere else in the keep? Mayhap with the Scot?
Marguerite berated herself for her concern. Orrick could be anywhere and ’twas none of her business. She had worked hard to hold herself separate from all those who made Silloth their home, and to become involved now would be the wrong thing to do.
“Lady Constance, is there some problem?” she finally asked since the hushed whispering had not stopped.
“Nay, Marguerite. These men were told to report directly and immediately to Orrick on their return and are trying to do that.”
“No one knows where Lord Orrick is?” she asked.
“I am here,” Orrick answered from behind the small group.
Walking from the stairway, she could see him tense when he recognized the men waiting for him. Marguerite watched as he exchanged looks with them. Something was very wrong.
“My lord? Is all well?”
He met her gaze for a moment before nodding to the men to leave. The apprehension in him was palpable, very unlike the Orrick she had come to know. “I am sorry that your rest was disturbed, lady. I will take my business to the hall.”
She had been dismissed. His curt words of apology did nothing to ease it. Now as she watched, he whispered something to his mother who, from the expression on her face, did not like the answer she received, either. Turning away, his mother walked away in the direction of her rooms. Then, they faced each other in the empty hallway.
The moment lasted forever for her. There was something in his voice, something in his gaze and in his stance that screamed of danger to her. She could not figure out if the danger was from him or aimed at him. He had not answered her original question. “Is all well, Orrick?”
She was certain that the flickering of the torch in the sconce on the wall behind him made it look as though he shook his head when in truth he nodded. Without another word, he turned and walked down the corridor, his steps echoing behind him as he went.
Marguerite closed his door and walked back to her chamber. She dropped her robe at the side of her bed and climbed back in. After this incident, she was certain she would not sleep the rest of the night. She lay silently listening to the sounds of the night and thinking about the strange situation with Orrick. When the dawn’s light crept over the edge of the window in her room, she was still awake and feeling like a doomed criminal about to face their fate.
Orrick followed the small group down into the hall and then into the room that he and Norwyn used to oversee his estates. He ignored the surprised look on Norwyn’s face when he ordered the steward out of the room. He took a seat at the table and motioned for the men to sit, as well. The knots in his gut tightened and he knew it was the grave expressions and demeanor of the men that caused it. This did not bode well for his plan to make Marguerite want to stay in Silloth.
“My lord, we would not have disturbed you if this was not important,” Philippe began.
“So you had no success, then?”
Philippe glanced at the others
and then swallowed hard. “Yes and no, my lord.”
“Stop this, Philippe. I sent you to locate some female relative of Lady Marguerite’s and to bring her back here to live. Did you or did you not?” Again, the men exchanged glances and none looked willing to speak of their mission. What in bloody hell was going on? “It is the middle of the night. I see no woman in your company. Tell me the rest of it. Now.” He forced the words out through his clenched jaws.
Philippe stuttered initially but finally spoke. “My lord, we discovered that the lady has a younger sister.”
“A sister? No cousin?” Orrick did not think that Marguerite’s father would allow a daughter of his to move here without a beneficial marriage…beneficial to his coffers of course.
“A sister, my lord, who is planning on taking her vows soon,” the soldier said. And then, licking his dry lips, he continued. “And a daughter.”
Orrick could not comprehend at first. A daughter? Marguerite? Holy Mother of God! Marguerite had given birth to the king’s bastard.
“A daughter?” He hoped for some different explanation, but the one that was obvious explained so many things about her behavior and her unrelenting belief that Henry would not give her up to another man.
“About a half-year ago, my lord,” Philippe answered. “The lady left court about six months before that and word was given that she and the king had a…falling-out.” The soldier looked completely uncomfortable discussing such personal matters with his lord, but he went on. “When the king convened his court at Woodstock to see to the knighting of Prince Geoffrey, the lady was called back and everyone expected…well, my lord, they expected that all had been forgiven.”
Orrick closed his eyes as he heard this news. So Marguerite had given the king a child and then expected her reward. Most likely Henry had led her to believe that she would achieve that for which she had been trained and prepared all her life—a union with him. Unfortunately for her, the king’s need for Queen Eleanor’s lands, titles and wealth was undiminished and so a marriage for Marguerite was arranged to a barbarian lord of the north.
The room filled with silence as he contemplated only a few of the ramifications of this news. If Marguerite’s child was elsewhere, could she ever be happy here? Had Henry made some arrangements for the upbringing of the child or had he threatened Marguerite if she did not comply with his plan? Orrick rubbed his eyes with his palms and let out his breath.
“Is there more?” He would hear it all now.
“We have letters from the lady’s sister. She did not know of your marriage, my lord.” Philippe reached into his tunic and took out two separate parchment packages. Orrick hesitated accepting them.
“Do you know what is contained in these?”
“Nay, my lord. They were sealed as you see them when we received them.”
“Did you tell her your purpose? Does she know that you learned of the babe?” He took the letters and looked at them. One was addressed to him, the other to Marguerite.
“Nay, my lord. We were discreet as you ordered. We found out about the babe from a servant at the convent. The girl is being raised there.”
“Raised there? By whom?”
“The convent is run by the Gilbertines and there is a lay community. The babe lives with her nurse there. Lady Dominique, or should I say, Sister Dominique, oversees her care.”
Arrangements like that had the mark of royal interference. The Gilbertines were an English order and had but two convents outside England—one in Ireland and one in Normandy. The one in Caen had been opened under the direct patronage of the king.
Orrick noticed that the men were exhausted. From their appearance, they had hurried back to Silloth with this news for him without regard to their comfort. He stood and went to the door. Clutching the letters in his hand, he turned to the men.
“Speak of this to no one. Not your lovers—” he looked at Philippe “—and not your wives,” he said, making the other two meet his gaze. “If you have questions about anything you heard or learned while carrying out my orders, come to me. Not to Norwyn. Not to Gavin. To me.” He waited until they each acknowledged this order and then opened the door. His steward still waited outside.
“Norwyn, they need food and drink.”
“Aye, my lord,” Norwyn said, never questioning the time of night or the difficulty there might be in carrying out his orders.
“And two days of rest before going back to their duties here.”
“Aye, my lord.” Norwyn nodded and led the men toward the kitchen.
When they had gone, Orrick closed the door and collapsed back into the chair. Still shocked by the news, he could not even think about it. He laid the letters on the table and looked at the ornate script. Did the one to Marguerite contain only sisterly greetings? Or was there more than that? What words did his contain? Part of him feared opening it, for each time he learned something new about Marguerite or her past, it created more problems for him.
Hours later, as the keep came to life outside the chamber, Orrick still sat with both letters before him. If he destroyed them both, Marguerite would never know. Any news within would remain unknown to her. Since none of those people she sent messages to ever responded, there would be nothing to tell her that her sister knew of their marriage. Nothing to tell her that he knew about her daughter. Nothing to tell her that he knew more of her secrets.
In the end, he remembered his demand of her for honesty between them. Even though she had not complied completely with it, he could not give her less than he expected from her. Now knowing the basis for her reluctance or inability to be candid with him, he understood more. And, in spite of his knowledge of this unbreakable bond between her and Henry, he wanted her to stay with him…and be his wife in truth. Steeling himself for the worst and hoping for the best, he broke the wax seal on the letter addressed to him and opened it.
Brother Wilfrid sent word that he was spending the morning in the village, so Marguerite did not leave her room. Orrick had not returned to his chambers yet and she feared whatever matters those men had with him. Mayhap it had nothing at all to do with her, but the peculiar behavior of coming to the lord’s chambers in the middle of the night and of Orrick’s strange appearance in the corridor with no explanation of his absence unnerved her.
Edmee brought a tray as she requested, however Marguerite found herself unable to eat a bite of food. She had finally decided on a walk to ease the anxiety within her, when Orrick entered from his chambers. She jumped to her feet to face him.
“My lady, please pardon this intrusion,” he said, walking across the room. “I thought to find you with Brother Wilfrid, but I was informed he went to the village.”
My lady? He usually called her by name, for he was more comfortable with that than she. Something was different in his eyes as he looked upon her.
“Is this about your men last night?” she blurted out, unable to keep her concerns to herself. She entwined her fingers and tried to steady her hands.
“Actually, it is. Please sit.” He pointed at the alcove seat and she sat, or dropped, into it. “I had thought that part of your resistance to remaining here was that you knew no one here,” he began without meeting her gaze. “When you would reveal nothing of your family or your life, I sent my men to Normandy to seek the truth.”
The room grew both dim and hot around her. He sought the truth? She must continue breathing. She could not faint. Forcing the breaths in and out of her body, Marguerite tried to stay calm. Clutching her hands even more tightly, she swallowed and managed to speak.
“The truth, my lord? And what did your men find on their quest for the truth?” She tried to look deep within herself for the courage that usually allowed her to appear serene and composed. She feared that that skill had deserted her.
“I did not know you have a sister.”
“A s-sister?” she stammered. “I have a sister.” She needed to pull her thoughts together. She did not want to reveal more than he already knew. �
�A younger sister, my lord. Dominique.”
“I thought your mother died giving birth to you.”
She could feel his scrutiny as she gathered her words. She might be able to get through this if she did not meet his eyes again. “She did. Dominique and I share the same father, but have different mothers.” Marguerite smoothed her gown over her legs. “My mother was a cousin to the king of France and Dominique’s is cousin to the count of Toulouse.” She fell back to the old ways, the haughty behavior that she had perfected before coming here. “You probably discovered that she has entered the convent in Caen and intends to take her vows. Or mayhap she has by now.”
In trying to hold any doubts about her course in life at bay, she had not thought of her sister in weeks and weeks. She tried to remember how long her training as a novice was and could not.
“Nay, she has not taken her final vows yet.”
Surprised, she did look at him now and found his stare unnerving. He managed to undermine the practice of many years with his straightforward behavior. “My thanks for that news, for I have not seen her in…” No! She could not think about that time. “…for some months.”
Orrick walked closer to her and held out a small package of parchment. “She asked that this be delivered to you.”
A letter from Dominique? Had he read it? She saw the wax seal and knew that he had not. But, in order to take the letter from him, she had to unclasp her hands and reveal how badly they were trembling. Hoping he would misinterpret her shaking as excitement over hearing news of her sister, she reached for it.
“I had hoped that on hearing my request, she could recommend some cousin or friend who might come here and be companion to you. Her letter to me revealed an absence of suitable relatives for that purpose.”
She put the letter in her lap and held it. His benevolence continually surprised her. And reminded of her darkest deception, she knew that she did not deserve the consideration with which he treated her. Tears burned in her throat and threatened to flow freely.
The King's Mistress Page 12
