by Колин Глисон
Lord Gavin looked at her in such a way that made her feel as though he’d never before seen her. “And I—’tis something I rarely think to do, my lady. The times I spend in this world are on the back of a horse, or brandishing some blooded weapon…and rarely have I a peaceful moment such as this…to smell the mint and to touch the soft leaves of the rosemary.”
There was silence for a long moment, again, and just as she was about to speak, the sound of footfalls thumping down the path reached them. She and Lord Gavin looked up to see Jube, accompanied by Clem and Tricky, hurrying toward them.
“My lord, a missive has arrived from the king,” Clem announced, brandishing a parchment with the sovereign’s red wax seal on it.
Lord Gavin took the message and broke the seal, heedless of the pieces of red wax that crumbled to the ground. “Does the messenger await a reply?” he asked as he unfolded the paper.
“Aye. He is to join us for supper and stay only the night, then return to his majesty with your response.”
Madelyne watched as he perused the letter quickly, and saw his countenance still and settle into the harsh features she was familiar with. All trace of ease faded from his face, and when he looked up, even his dark brows had drawn together in a fierce black line. He looked at her, and his eyes were stone cold and flat. “The king requests your presence at his court.”
A pang of fear shot through her, and she managed to subdue it with a swallow and a slow breath. ’Twas only the royal order that she had expected, yet Mal Verne seemed inexplicably disturbed by the missive that he had certainly anticipated. Without thinking, she touched him, resting her fingers on the hard muscles of his arm. She felt him start beneath her hand, almost as if he wanted to pull away from her touch…and she dropped it immediately. “What is it? Is there more?”
He had folded the parchment and stuffed the stiff paper into the belt of his tunic as he rose to his feet. “Your father has learned of your presence here at Mal Verne, and he has expressed his concern for your safety and his desire to see you.”
The shaft of fear pierced her again, and Madelyne felt light-headed. Her father. Fantin. She grasped a handful of skirt and pulled awkwardly to her feet. Quelling the panic that threatened to overtake her, she replied carefully, “When must we leave?”
He measured her with his gaze, then flickered his attention to Jube and Clem. “On the morrow. His majesty expects us at Whitehall with all haste.”
* * *
Peg would accompany them to court.
The older woman and Tricky had taken charge of the packing, leaving Madelyne to do naught but sit near the fireplace and be subjected to a discussion of her clothing, fashion, and personal attributes as if she weren’t present.
“Nay, child, not that violet! ’Twould make her look as lost as the drabness of a plowed field,” Peg admonished Tricky, who had held up an undergown of the offending color. “Verily, my sister’s daughter by law could wear such a color as that, for she has hair a pale wheat color. But for one such as my lady, why, only the reds and greens and golds, and mayhaps a blue or so, will do for her. My brother’s daughter’s mother was known for her beautiful blues woven in cloths made for the ladies of the courts in Paris. Aye, she would pick the flowers and cut their stems, leaving only the blue leaves before she would stew them in a pot—for days and days, he would tell us…and the smell would be enough to turn yer stomach, it would…and I suppose she must cook them out of the house, else… ” Her voice trailed off, and she paused, looking at Tricky, who had been listening avidly, and then at Madelyne, and then down at the cloth she clutched in one hand. “Hmmph…aye… hmm.” She turned, folding a golden undergown and laying it carefully in the trunk.
“I cannot take all of this clothing,” Madelyne protested, gesturing at the mounds of cloth on the bed and stools. “Will not the lady miss it when she comes here?”
Peg looked at her in bewilderment. “What are you speaking of, child? The lady is not coming here—at the least, if she were to do so, she would have no use for clothing!” She gave a short chuckle, then sobered. She picked up another gown. “Did you not know? Lady Nicola is dead, my lady.”
“Lady Nicola? Lord Gav—Mal Verne’s wife—is dead?” Madelyne felt a sudden, foolish unburdening of her heart.
Tricky sprang off the stool on which she’d perched for a moment’s rest and placed her hands on her round hips. “Aye, ’tis so, my lady. Did not Lord Mal Verne tell you?”
Peg snorted, casting a sidewise glance at the other two. “Lord Gavin speaks not of his wife, nor will he allow any of us to speak of her in his presence.”
“Aye, ’tis why, then Clem spoke so quickly and softly in my ear when I asked him.” Tricky frowned, folding her arms over her middle, and pursed her lip into a pout. “An’ I bethought he meant to steal a kiss by doing so.”
“Tricky! Clem tried to kiss you as well?” Madelyne could not suppress the niggling annoyance that her friend should suddenly be the target of affection of two different men, when she had not—
Had not what?
Caught the attention of the mighty lord of the manor? She huffed out a breath of air and bit her bottom lip. Marry, she was a fool to entertain such fantasies!
Her maid was shaking her head. “Nay, Lady Madelyne, it ’pears I was mistaken that he sought to kiss me.” She appeared slighted by this realization and returned her attention to delving into a new trunk of old clothing.
“Well, there’s no sense in bein’ put out by the fact that he ain’t kissed ye yet,” Peg wagged a motherly finger. “Kissin’s a good thing, but ye don’t wanna be too free with’em. ’Course…it’s the best way to know true love.” She held up a ruby-colored gown and shook it out. With a nod, she added it to a trunk filled with clothing. “When the right man kisses ye, ye’ll know he’s the one! Mark my words. I’ve had my share of kissin’ and only my Peter was the one who made m’head spin like a top!”
Peg pushed down on the lid of the trunk that overflowed with gowns and overtunics, shoes, hose, and several cloaks. “Aye,” she puffed, sitting heavily on it, and brought them back to the previous topic, “My lord Gavin is quite the closed-mouthed ogre about the lady. Tricky, fetch those ties there—beyond the bed clothes.”
Madelyne joined the other two women as they struggled to wrap the ties about the bulging trunk. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and she asked, “What happened to Lady Nicola? And why will Lord Mal Verne not speak of her?”
The older woman smoothed a hand over her bright red hair with the pale yellow streak. “I served Lady Nicola as her tiring maid at court, ye know, and I saw how it happened.”
Tricky plumped herself on the floor next to the trunk, tucking a cushion beneath her rump. “What was it that happened?”
“Well, ’twas oh, nigh on seven years past…nay, six summers. Lady Nicola accompanied Lord Gavin to the court of the new King Henry and Queen Eleanor as they went to pledge fealty to our new rulers. She was a beautiful if foolish lady, and had been married before she was wed with Lord Gavin. She oft complained to me that the lord traveled overmuch, fighting in battles and that he did not woo her as he should.”
“Well, ’tis no surprise. Lord Gavin is not the wooing sort,” Tricky snorted. “’Tis obvious even to me, who has been in an abbey since I could walk!”
“Tricky!” Madelyne could not disagree, but she would not have spoken such a thing.
“Nay, my lady, ’tis true. And since the death of his wife, Lord Gavin has been e’en less gentle.” Peg took up the story again. “At any rate, I was with Lady Nicola on the first she saw him…not Lord Gavin, mind, but the man who would be her lover.
“Even to these old eyes—well, they weren’t so old six summers past, but old enough that a fine face and figure won’t easily turn them—er…ach, aye, yes, even to these eyes, the man was fine and courtly. Not so tall, but taller than Lady Nicola…and his hair brushed his shoulders like a moonbeam.” When Tricky snickered, Peg pulled from her reverie t
o glare down at her. “Those were the words of Lady Nicola, and not my own, know you well.
“Aye, she did moon for him, and wail over his manners, and his sapphire blue eyes, and the skill with which he played the lute…and she waited until Lord Gavin was called home to Mal Verne. She begged for him to allow her to stay with the king and queen’s court…and Lord Gavin, sharp though he might be, cared for her enough to allow her to stay.”
Peg stopped, and when Tricky humphed in impatience, she shrugged. “’Tis easy to guess the rest, of course. Nicola found her way to the man’s side, and he wooed her with his smile and his beautiful voice—I’ll not argue that when the man sang, he had the voice of an angel—and his gentle charm. In Lady Nicola’s eyes, he was all that Lord Gavin was not.”
Madelyne felt a stab of pain for Mal Verne. The man might be a warrior, and a rough one at that…but surely he did not deserve to be dishonored by his own wife because he did not sing beautifully. ’Twas no wonder that he did not wish to speak of her.
“Did Lord Gavin learn of her betrayal? She did betray him, did she not?” Tricky asked, adjusting her bottom on the pillow like a child in the throes of a bedtime tale.
Peg nodded sagely. “Aye. ’Twas not until later that my lord learned of her fancy… months later. And aye, she did betray Lord Gavin by bedding with her lover during their time at court. Lord Gavin did not learn of the depth of her unfaithfulness until he came to bring her back to Mal Verne.” Her eyes became troubled and she patted the streak of yellow in her hair again. “Quite a row, there was…the lady would not leave, and my lord insisted that she go. She loved him , she said to Lord Gavin, and she wanted only to be with him .”
Drawing her eyebrows into irregular ridges, Peg paused for a moment as if to gather the threads of the story. “I did not hear it all, but another of the maids claimed Lady Nicola insisted that her lover was a man of greatness and holiness …hmph, I said when that was told me…a fine face and lilting voice do not make a great man! And one who would couple with another man’s wife is no holy one in my mind!”
“Did Lord Gavin make her leave with him?” Tricky asked. Madelyne did not know whether to be amused or alarmed at the glow of interest in her friend’s eyes.
“Aye. He took her back here to Mal Verne. A fortnight later, a missive arrived for her. ’Twas from her lover, of course—his name she never spoke in my hearing. She planned to ride out and meet him, so they would leave together.”
Peg sighed, and stood suddenly, shaking out her skirts. The pleasure of tale-telling evaporated from her face, and Madelyne recognized sorrow blanketing her features—but was the sorrow for Lady Nicola or for Lord Gavin?
“The rest I do not know,” said Peg. “There is no one but his lord and her lady who do. All that has been told to us is that she left here in the dead of night—escaped his wrath, some say—and Lord Gavin went after her. When he returned, ’twas with word that she was dead from a fall off her horse.”
Coldness gripped Madelyne’s heart as she remembered her own flight with her mother. What would Fantin have done if he’d learned of their escape and caught them? The thought sent a wave of emptiness and fear through her. “And no one knows what happened?”
“Nay. None but the lord and the lady herself. And she ain’t speakin’.”
Ten
Rule was eager to be on the road again. Gavin was not.
In fact, he was in a most foul mood, and his men had given him a wide berth since leaving Mal Verne that morning.
The solitude—at the least, as much isolation as one could have when traveling in a group of men-at-arms—suited him fine. He’d begun the journey riding at the rear of the party, keeping Rule to a handy trot as they left Mal Verne and started on the road to Whitehall. It would take four days to reach the king, even traveling as quickly as he planned, since the roads were mired with mud from the heavy rains that had fallen in the last sevennight.
The carts carrying the bulk of their luggage would have a slower time of it, but there was no help for it. Nor could he have allowed the women to ride in a cart because of its slower pace. The king’s message had made it clear Gavin was to make all haste to bring Madelyne de Belgrume to his presence.
He remembered the fear that turned her face ashen when she learned de Belgrume knew of her presence, and of his desire to see her. It had not been an insignificant expression—it had been true horror and panic. Gavin brooded, wondering what it was that she feared and if it was anything he could protect her from. Then, frustrated he shoved a hank of hair out of his eyes.
He was not the permanent protector of Madelyne de Belgrume—he was merely her escort to the king’s side, after which he would be free to never see her again.
His attention wandered over the backs of his men until it found the mount carrying Jube and Lady Madelyne. Gavin tightened his hands on Rule’s reins and forced himself to look away from the slim figure cloaked in a midnight blue wrap. She rode behind Jube, and he could see the wrist-thick braid that disappeared into the neckline of the cape where her hood had fallen back.
He clearly remembered the feel of her settling on the saddle in front of him, his thighs locking around her and her head jouncing just in front of his chin as they rode along. That memory was precisely the reason he’d refused to share a mount with her again, and was just as strongly the reason he’d made certain she sat behind Jube, rather than in front of him.
And, verily, it was also the reason for his nasty mood.
Annoyed at the distraction, he jabbed his mail-covered heels into Rule’s side, and the steed surged forward with a sudden leap. They clipped quickly along, weaving expertly among the others in the party, to the head of the group where Gavin’s three scouts cantered along. Glad to put Madelyne de Belgrume behind him, he manipulated the stallion so that he could talk with Leo, the leader of his scouts.
* * *
Fantin gripped the reins of his dancing mount and jammed a heel into its side. The bloody horse was causing the bush to shake and would alert Mal Verne and his men to their presence long before the ambush he planned.
After praying and fasting with Rufus for two days, Fantin understood: God wished him to return Madelyne to Tricourten immediately.
It had become clear there was some purpose she must play in his quest—for her reappearance was the sign he’d been awaiting. Not only must she return to his fold because she was his daughter, his flesh and blood, and he owned her…but because she must play a part in this purpose with which God had burdened him so generously.
Whatever Madelyne’s task, it would be revealed to him in God’s Time.
With a hiss, for he did not know how much longer ’twould be before Mal Verne’s party approached this curve in the road, he captured the attention of his thirteen men-at-arms who stood ready to swarm into their path. He cocked his head, catching the eye of Tavis, and ordered, “Go you back on the road and look for signs of their approach.”
He had no need to wait for the king to make his decision regarding the fate of the girl—or even to grant him an audience. The wench was his daughter, and he would have her if he pleased.
The message he’d sent to Henry served only to cause him to appear complacent—to allay any suspicions the king might harbor against him and his Work. And thus when he appeared in the royal court, demanding to see his daughter, Henry would only be able to tell him that she’d disappeared again. And no one would fault Fantin for his anger against the king for allowing Mal Verne to lose his daughter again so soon after she’d been found. He licked his lips, feeling their pleasing plumpness—due to the herb-scented goose fat he smeared on them each night—and smiled.
The king was no better friend to him than Mal Verne was—and his whore of a wife as well. They would be among the first to feel his wrath when he completed his work and had the Stone in his grasp.
Eagerness rising within, he swallowed the smile and manipulated his stallion away from the group of men, taking a post further up the road. Mal Vern
e would die today, and Madelyne would be back in the care of her loving father…as she should have been for the last ten years.
He grinned there, silent in his glee, and thought of the destiny that awaited him once his daughter was in his custody.
And he gave a solemn prayer of thanks.
* * *
’Twas a capriciousness very unlike him, Gavin thought as he bent toward Rule’s head, just missing being slapped in the face by a heavy branch. He patted the smoothness of the steed’s neck, digging his fingers into the thick mane. An exhilaration filled him as the stallion leapt over a small creek, galloping at full speed through the thick forest.
They’d left the traveling party in favor of chasing a stag in hopes of having venison for supper—and to give Rule a few moments to exert his stunted energy. Gavin grinned, enjoying the feel of the wind buffeting his face. It had been overlong since he’d enjoyed himself so, and for a few moments, he felt young again—as if he’d shed the weight of his past, his mistakes, and that of those he’d loved.
The white tail of the deer was just visible as it bounded over a fallen tree, and Gavin leaned forward, urging Rule to go faster as they drew closer. He reached back for the spear he carried, readying it for the fatal thrust, crouching low as Rule sprang over the fallen trunk.
Suddenly, a scream rent the air, far distant but chilling to his ears. Gavin jerked his head toward the sound, hearing its echo even over the thrashing of Rule’s hooves through the brush. Madelyne.
Gavin yanked back on the reins, kicking his mount frantically, and the destrier spun on its rear legs with the practiced grace of a warhorse. They reversed direction instantly, and he pressed forward, hugging Rule with his powerful thighs and urging him on with commands in the stallion’s ears.
They burst from the forest onto the road moments later and swerved in an easterly direction, following the path of the travel party. Hooves thudding, Rule did not hesitate as he galloped furiously toward the sound of swords clashing in the distance.
