He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She was tempted to pull away and tempted to turn in to his caress, but instead sat motionless trying to control the emotions that pushed relentlessly forward.
“I would have you happy here, Marguerite,” he said in that voice that touched something deep within her and sent chills through her.
“News of my sister has made me happy, my lord.”
“Then I hope that the contents of the letter brings you more joy.” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I will give you some privacy so that you may read it at your leisure.”
She watched him walk to the door before calling out to him. “My lord?” He stopped without facing her. “Orrick. Pray thee accept my thanks for this and for what you did.”
Orrick nodded and left without another word. She turned the letter over and over, wondering if glad tidings would be found. She slid back against the seat and broke the seal on the parchment.
More than an hour later, Marguerite knew the truth and any measure of happiness she’d gained with knowledge of her sister’s well-being or by Orrick’s intentions was destroyed by the words written in the letter.
Chapter Fifteen
Waspish.
She’d turned waspish since the day he’d given her the letter from her sister. Instead of making things better between them, everything was worse. Her temper drove him from the keep. In spite of the colder weather and growing winds, he rode along the water’s edge inspecting the keep’s wall. Anything to stay away from Marguerite.
She scolded not only her maid, but any servant who crossed her path. And she did it in Norman. His mother complained to him. Norwyn complained. Even Gavin complained. The only person she was civil to was Brother Wilfrid. So, her time spent in his workroom was a respite to everyone else and Orrick encouraged her to visit there more often.
He needed a wife now. He could not continue in this limbo of having one in name only who did nothing to aid him in overseeing his lands and people. There was too much to be done and his wife should have been working along with him.
Instead, she remained aloof or hostile.
Orrick knew that something in the letter had caused this—he recognized the pattern within her behavior, and although he attempted to talk to her about it, she refused. The only thing different in her reaction was that this time she spent no time writing letters to those at Henry’s court.
What could her sister have said to bring on such a change? Did she worry that he knew about her daughter? Mayhap he should reveal his knowledge to her and soothe any fears she had?
He reined in his mount and slid off to walk. He was a fair man and he’d tried in every way over the months since their marriage to make her welcome here. He accommodated her behavior because he knew the reasons for it, but he knew his self-control was slipping. Orrick was tired of the uneven life he lived now, never knowing if she would adapt or not. He could not continue with upheaval after upheaval.
Gavin urged him to beat her into submission. Brother Wilfrid, sensing his anger, counseled temperance and forbearance. He thought his mother suggested that he throw Marguerite over the cliff, but he was certain he must have misheard her words.
Orrick feared he was at the end of his wits. All it would take was one more incident and he would have it out with her. Self-control be damned. This had to be resolved. Her behavior worsened and so he decided to speak to her directly and end this ridiculous situation.
Orrick stood outside her chamber door choosing the words he would speak when he heard her voice within. Listening for a moment, he realized that Marguerite was ranting to her maid. Although Edmee spoke in English as he’d requested, Marguerite again spoke in her Norman dialect. This, after he made it clear that he wanted her to begin using the local tongue. She knew English. Her possible unfamiliarity with it was the reason he’d asked her to work with Brother Wilfrid in translating the abbey’s messages and records into English. True to her talents, she mastered it in a short time.
This was now simply a continued refusal on her part to become part of his household. A continued refusal to be his wife. His anger grew as he heard her insult his keep, his people and their behavior and his mother’s “provincial” ideas and manners. His hands fisted as the blood pounded in his ears. When she called her chambers a pigsty, he lost control.
Orrick forced the door open, letting it slam against the wall behind it. He stalked across the chamber until he stood close to Marguerite, close enough to make her take a step back and away from him.
Did she know what she had done? Did she even care that he was past controlling his anger and his disappointment?
“A pigsty, lady? Think you this a pigsty?” He stepped even closer, towering over her and enjoying the look of uncertainty in her eyes. She was trapped between him and the window alcove. “Let me disabuse you of your mistake.”
He lifted her by the hips and threw her over his shoulder, leaving her maid to gape at his actions. Marguerite screamed as he wrapped his arm around her thighs and strode out of the room.
“Let me go!” she screeched, wiggling against his hold. “Put me down!”
“Nay, lady. ’Tis time for you to learn the cost of your careless words and your abominable behavior.”
He was not oblivious to the reaction of all the servants and villagers he passed—he just did not care at this point. Until she learned the lesson he was about to begin to teach her, there would be no peace between them. Even worse and more important to him, there would be no marriage between them. As difficult and embarrassing as this would be, ’twas time for both of them to either take the step forward or end the farce that existed now.
By the time he left the keep, crossed the yard and carried her through the gate, Marguerite’s struggles had calmed a bit. She probably realized they were being watched and followed and the part of her that could put on that icy facade must be taking over. She was silent when they arrived at his chosen destination.
He stopped before the muddy enclosure in the middle of the village. The smell alone would have alerted her to his intentions, but the squealing and rooting of the pigs made it clear where they were.
She must have had an inkling of what he planned to do, for her struggles began anew. Without putting her on her feet, he shifted her into his arms and climbed over the low fence around the pigsty. He chose not to go too far in, but looked for a clear spot. Finding it, he dumped his wife into the mud.
“You obviously did not know what a pigsty was, lady. Consider yourself informed of what one is. And what it is not.”
He stepped out and left her squirming and screeching in the mud. Her maid stood just outside the enclosure clearly as shocked at his behavior as everyone else and obviously unsure about what to do. At this point, he cared not.
Orrick turned and walked away, leaving all of those who followed him to watch as Marguerite struggled against her own anger, the sticky mud and her gown as it dragged her down to the ground several times. A sinking feeling tugged at his gut as he heard the laughter growing behind him. Mayhap exposing her to this public embarrassment was not the best way he could have handled this, but he had ignored too many instances of her bad behavior since she’d arrived and it needed to stop.
By rights he could have beaten her into submission. By rights he could have her confined as a prisoner. By rights there were any number of ways to force her compliance. He was certain he could have gained that with a small measure of the brutal treatment he suspected she’d suffered at her father’s direction or at his hand. But that was not his way.
And he did not want compliance. He wanted acceptance and cooperation and, damn his softheartedness, he wanted her to choose him over Henry.
As he retraced his steps through the village to the keep, he heard Norwyn ordering everyone back to their duties. He did not—would not—look back, but was surprised to see Ardys and the boy standing near her cottage ahead. The look of disappointment on her face struck at him. He stopped and would have spo
ken to her had she not frowned and shaken her head.
Marguerite caught up with him then and passed him without stopping. Of all the reactions he’d seen from her in the past and expected now, he was not prepared for the look of pure misery in her face. The pain of her embarrassment tore at him and he tried to reach for her to assist her. She sidestepped to avoid his touch and continued up the path to the keep without ever looking at him.
Orrick decided it was time to end this. He would gain Godfrey’s support and write to Henry for release from this debacle. No one deserved this much unhappiness from a marriage—not he and certainly not Marguerite.
Not able to face any more humiliation, Marguerite did not speak to or look at any of Silloth’s people as she made her way back to the keep and the privacy of her chambers. The initial amusement of the villagers at seeing her thrown into the pigsty passed quickly and she sensed that everyone observing the scene was aware that some line had been crossed.
She stood by the window staring out as Edmee wordlessly prepared a bath for her. Orrick had not returned from the village yet and she wondered if the red-haired woman at the top of the hill was the cause. There was some connection between she and Orrick for Marguerite had witnessed the exchange of glances at her approach.
Was this Ardys, the woman whose name had been whispered in the corridor?
The woman who was most likely Orrick’s leman.
He had not approached her since that night those months ago, and Marguerite realized that he must be taking his pleasures on the other woman. She spied a young, blond-haired, green-eyed boy at the woman’s side whom she now suspected was Orrick’s by-blow.
Now she knew where he went when his chamber was empty so many nights. Could she bear this additional humiliation? Her mother had both caused and suffered through it, but could she? On the heels of Dominique’s letter, she thought not.
Edmee approached and began to unlace her tunic and gown. Marguerite stood silently and endured it. Without word or objection, she followed her maid’s directions and found herself seated in the tub of steaming water. The door closed and Marguerite was finally alone.
It did not take long for the sorrow and despair to overwhelm her. Her father had manipulated and used her. Henry had betrayed and abandoned her. Orrick, who had tried to make her see the truth, had tired of her and humiliated her before his people.
What choices were there for a woman whose life was a complete sham? What paths opened for a woman who had made her way by giving up her body, her heart and even her child for the empty promises of powerful men? What would happen to her now that even Orrick, the kindest of men, did not want her?
Chapter Sixteen
The steaming water soothed her and cleaned her, but after dressing, Marguerite felt a restlessness she could not explain. The day was bright with sunshine and she wanted to walk, but did not wish to face the people of Silloth.
The beach. She could walk on the beach. It was windy and colder than the last time she’d been there with Orrick so she took her cloak with her. Since most of those who worked in the keep were at their midday meal, she left the keep and walked to the gate without encountering any servants. The guard hesitated when she approached, but did not stop her from going out into the village.
Marguerite walked along the wall of the keep until she reached the trail that led to the beach. After reaching the bottom of the steep path, she was not certain if it was easier on foot or on horseback. Breathing heavily, she paused to regain her breath. Walking near the water’s edge would be less difficult than fighting with the loose sand, but she did not want to feel the icy bite of the ocean now.
She decided that she could walk closer to the water and yet avoid getting wet, so she made her way to that point. Turning back, she looked up at the dark-stoned keep of Silloth. The tide was in, blocking the northern beaches, so she headed south in the brighter sun. A few minutes later, she met the guards who were routinely stationed there. When she tried to pass them without comment, they whistled and signaled the guards on the top of the keep.
The system was fascinating. The various pitches and numbers of whistles meant something different. Marguerite watched as they held this long-distance conversation over her head. One of the guards waved her on and the other began to follow her, although he allowed some space between them. She was about to reject their protection, but thought better of it.
Enjoying the breezes, she tugged her veil and barbette from her head and allowed her hair, still damp from her bath, to dry in the air. Walking briskly, she allowed the winds to buffet her along. Soon, she was far enough down the shore that the guard left behind was a speck in the distance.
Her life felt as aimless to her as this foray down the beach did—it had no destination, no path and no schedule. Her sister’s words in the letter tore asunder all that she believed about her love for Henry and his for her. She, who prided herself on being intelligent, was a fool for all that she had missed going on around her.
She could blame it on her father’s machinations. He pushed and prodded and forced and focused her in one direction without pause or hesitation. But she had wanted it, wanted Henry. And all that it meant to be his mistress. The jewels. The power. The importance.
Any doubt on her part that this was not a noble goal had left her years ago. Any qualms or embarrassment had faded away as the sheer size and quantity of her rewards increased. More servants, more gowns, more attention. The saddest part was the level of self-deception she had accomplished in her life.
Her hair whipped around her and was nearly dry. Marguerite spied a large rock and walked to it. The surface was smooth and warm, so she sat to let the winds have at her. Closing her eyes and turning her face into them, she tried to figure out where she had made the first mistake.
She remembered when she was eight years old and her father first told her of his plans to make her a queen. Up to that point her tutors had praised her for her skills and talents in reading and writing and languages, but after that, nothing was enough, nothing was acceptable, no effort sufficient in their eyes. Isolated in one of her father’s estates in southern Anjou, her every move was scrutinized and criticized until the perfection her father sought in her was accomplished.
Her beloved nurse was replaced for being too soft with her and Berthilde appeared one day to oversee her education and lessons in deportment and appearance. In the beginning, any refusal on her part was met with swift and severe punishments—beatings, starving and other methods were used to ensure her compliance. After a time, her natural temper was beaten down and she acquiesced in all things her father demanded.
The ironic part was that if he’d shown her any love or affection, she would have done his bidding without resistance. Instead, she was constantly reminded of the gratitude she owed him for taking a worthless, bastard daughter and turning her into a woman who would be queen. Eventually, she believed and accepted all that he told her. His dreams were now hers.
Nothing escaped her father’s attention to details. He had even made certain that in spite of her virginal state, she knew how to please a man in bedplay. Comte Ranulf of Alencon left nothing to chance in his strategy to present the king with the perfect replacement for Queen Eleanor.
For eight years she prepared. Her father made it quite clear to her that failure was not a possibility. He had given her everything to make certain she could fulfill his expectations. And when finally brought to court to be presented to Henry, she was the woman her father had forged through years of training and preparation—educated, refined, beautiful, ruthless and determined to take the place owed to her and to her father for his unswerving loyalty to the Plantagenet king.
So, where was her mistake? How could a child have stopped Ranulf in his pursuit of his desires? How did someone say no to a king?
Marguerite turned a bit to follow the sun as it moved in the sky. Gathering her hair and wrapping it around her fist, she made a loose arrangement with it that fit back into the netting of the barbet
te. Peering down the beach, she saw that the guard was still standing watch. Leaning back, she lay on the rock and tried to think on her error in judgment.
Once she’d arrived at court, Ranulf teased Henry with glimpses of her. She was the bait and the king was the prize. Her father made certain that everything accomplished about her was shown to its best—her skills at reading, her talent on the psaltery and recorder, her dancing were all displayed to the king and his court. And while noblemen from the Plantagenet provinces were bidding for her hand in marriage, Henry and her father were coming to terms of their own for the king’s possession of her.
And possess her he did, for once he came to her bed, he did not leave it. He was obsessed with her for months and months and took her everywhere he traveled on the continent. He was a hot-blooded man who never tired of bedplay and rarely slept for long. Their nights went on and on until she usually collapsed from the exhaustion of pleasing his wild appetite.
Marguerite shifted on the rock. If she were being honest with herself, she enjoyed that part of it, for it was in that moment of joining that he was truly hers and no one else’s. It was the only time she knew she had his full attention and love.
Or did she? Was that her mistake—believing that what he gave her was love? For believing that Henry ever belonged to anyone, let alone her?
No, she realized as she drifted off to sleep. Her mistake had been the craving for more as everything she desired was given to her. Once she had Henry, she felt safe from her father. The temper last seen as a child came out in bursts. The need for Henry’s affection and attention grew and, with it, jealousy. She grew overwhelmed with the increasing tension at court and it was then that she stepped over the boundary.
She could not imagine Henry not taking steps to make their child legitimate. She knew once she told him of her pregnancy, all things would fall into place for her. Never had she thought about the fallacies that lay as a foundation for all she did.
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