by Колин Глисон
“Many thanks for your concern, Lady Artemis. I have found naught to fear in this court thus far. Only the cats with sharp claws who seek a scratching place have drawn my attention. I shall deal with those cats as I did with the mousers at the abbey: leave them outside in the cold.”
Judith settled in her seat. Madelyne might appear to be fragile and naive, but there was a solid shell of serenity about her that would keep the barbs from striking deeply.
Seventeen
“Your name is spoken with such fear and reverence in the ladies’ court,” Therese said into Gavin’s ear as she settled next to him that eventide.
Dinner was finished, and the platters of food had been removed by serfs and pages pushing between the rows of trestle tables. Ale and wine continued to flow as the court settled in for the evening’s entertainment.
“Most of the ladies fear you, but you know that I see you for what you truly are.”
Gavin tore his gaze from Madelyne, who sat among a cluster of nobility near the front of the great hall. “And what is that, Lady Therese?”
“A man with great passion, and a man who knows what he desires.” She pushed her generous breast against his arm and only many years of training to control his reflexes kept him from flinching.
He saw Madelyne turn slightly in her seat, away from the jongleur that danced while juggling goblets on the front dais. Her eyes scanned the crowded hall, and Gavin shifted himself away from Therese just as Madelyne’s gaze rested upon his. Their eyes met for a moment and suddenly his linen sherte and tunic felt heavy and hot. Then she turned back to her companions and Gavin took a large sip of his ale.
“Lady Therese, did I not see the queen beckoning to you?” asked Clem, who sat across the table from them.
“Her majesty?” Therese nearly tripped on her own gown in her anxiousness. “Excuse me, Lord Mal Verne, but I must go.”
“Many blessings upon you, Clem,” said Gavin when she had gone.
His man’s face wrinkled in a wry smile, then settled into his usual dour expression. “A pox on all women, I say!”
Gavin raised his brows, but his attention had wandered back to Madelyne. Now, Lord Reginald had taken a seat next to her. Gavin’s jaw tightened and he watched intently to see what—if any—response she would give him. A smile, he saw, a brief one, and then her attention returned to the jongleur.
He became aware that Clem had been muttering on for a long moment about aught—and that fact that he was still speaking regained Gavin’s full attention. “What is it, man?” he asked, looking at his companion.
“Ye cannot ever trust’em! And when you think they’re comin’ forth with what they want, and ye got’em over their mad, then they get all mad about somethin’ else!” Clem took a long draft of ale, as though this unusually long speech had dried his tongue.
Gavin stared at him. “There is some comely wench who has captured your heart, then, Clem?”
“My heart? Nay! ’Tis not my heart she’s captured—’tis my ears and feet! The maid of Lady Madelyne—that woman Patricka—plagues me with her demands and orders. While I guard the lady’s door, the maid runs me willy-nilly with her silly tales and her calls for me to move this, and reach that, and open this, and foolish things such as that. I begin to feel like a nursemaid to that wench!”
Gavin remained silent, nodding his head, drinking his ale, peeking at Madelyne, and allowing Clem to bluster on. Strange as his unchecked tirade was, it saved Gavin from the necessity of having to respond.
“’Tis Jube whose eye has been caught by that maid—’tis not mine,” Clem said sourly, pausing to take a gulp from his goblet. Swiping a hand across his mouth, he continued, “It should be he who guards the door and runs household errands for that woman!”
Gavin, who’d seen Madelyne rise and begin to walk in his direction, quickly returned his attention to Clem—just in time to hear his last gripe. “Very well. If it will cease your moaning, you are then relieved of guard duty and I shall place Jube there during the day, henceforth. He may have his fill of the maid as long as he does not shirk his duty to watch over Lady Madelyne.”
Clem opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. “Many thanks my lord,” he said gruffly, and buried his face in his goblet.
“Hail, Lady Madelyne,” Gavin said, standing as she approached him. Her head was bare—still so strange to him to see that beautiful hair uncovered, despite the fact that she’d worn it thus since their arrival at court. Long strands of dark hair, wrapped in gold cord, hung from each temple, whilst the rest had been coiled and braided and gathered at the nape of her neck. Her gown trailed on the floor, the wide sleeves of her overtunic nearly brushing its hem, while hints of the tightly-laced bliaut underneath showed the lush curves of a very un-nunlike body.
Hiding his surprise that she should have sought him out, he continued smoothly, “I have just informed Clem that Jube will take a stint at the guard duty out side of your chambers for a time—during the day. At night, of course, Rohan will continue to pace out side of your doors.”
Madelyne gave a slight curtsey, glanced with a smile at Clem, and returned her attention to Gavin. “Aye, thank you my lord.” She felt the weight of his stare as his eyes scanned her from head to toe. Warmth crept up over her throat and face and she looked away in order to regain control over her suddenly scattered thoughts.
“I trust that your first day in Eleanor’s court was uneventful?”
Madelyne nodded, and the strange feeling ebbed. “’Tis nothing like the abbey, but I am certain I’ll adjust. I have little choice, at the least until I am wed.” The words stuck in her throat, but she must get used to saying them—and accepting them. For, barring some act of God, it appeared that her destiny was set.
Gavin shifted, and his face held a slight grimace. Good, she thought, ’tis right that he should feel some small discomfort after the result of his actions upon me. “’Tis the reason I have come to you,” she told him. “May we walk from here—’tis so loud—to talk? I have something I must ask of you.”
He nodded. “Of course, my lady.” He extended his forearm and she slipped her hand under and around it, cupping the sinewy, firm muscles under her fingers. He was warm and solid as she bumped against him while he pushed the way through throngs of people, leading her out of the hall. “Shall we go out side of the keep, or would you prefer to find somewhere within? We cannot go to your chamber of course.”
She looked up, surprised and pleased that he should ask. “May we go outside? ’Tis been long since I have breathed the moon air.”
His eyes softened, then crinkled at the corners. “The moon air. Aye, of course. Let us be off.”
His pace was slower now that they were out of the hall and away from the people. Gavin brought her through the entry way and past the guards posted at doors as tall as three men. Their bodies were closer now, shoulders brushing as they walked—his stride long and smooth, mismatched against her shorter, faster one.
Once outside, Madelyne slipped from him and stood on the hard-packed dirt, turning her face up to the moon. It was only a sliver on this night, but the stars were many and the air was chill and crisp after the cloying, food-soaked, smoke-filled, sweaty space of the great hall. Her lips moved in a brief, silent prayer—one of thanks and admiration for this moment of beauty—then she turned back to Gavin.
He was there, arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning against the shadowy gray stone wall that stretched above him. He watched her, and her stomach lurched like a rusty drawbridge.
“What is it you wish to ask of me?” his voice carried easily to her, even over the sounds of busyness that surrounded them: the ever-present pages and squires, serfs and men-at-arms, going about their duties in the bailey.
“I… ” She stepped toward him, then stopped. Something hung there, palpable, yet enough to make her stomach squeeze again. “Lord Gavin, you said that the king has asked you to find me a husband.”
“Aye. Please do you not ask of
me to disobey the command of the king. You must know that is the one thing I cannot—or will not—do for you.”
Her lips tightened. He did not know her at all. She’d thought that perhaps… ah, she was foolish to think thus. “I would not ask that of you, Gavin.” Her throat dried as she realized she’d used his given name.
“Then what is it?” His voice became rougher.
“’Tis only that I ask that you…have no hurry to find a husband for me…and that you have a thought to select a man…who… ”
She did not know how to form the words. His stare was so heavy upon her, so steady, that all coherent thought disintegrated. She could only look at him, into those penetrating gray eyes, clear and open there in the starlight. The world receded and there was nothing but a wide space between them—a space of dirt, and a more cavernous space of violence and bloodshed versus peace and hope.
“Who will…?” He sounded annoyed, and he looked away, breaking the fragile connection. “Who will let you go back to the abbey? Who will not wish to beget an heir upon you? Who will what?”
Madelyne stepped back, straightening her posture. “Who will have some care for me. Who will not hurt me. Who will not order my every action, my every breath.” She pivoted from him, stalking away, her hands trembling and her eyes filling with wetness. She hated that her voice had broken at the end.
“Madelyne.”
She kept walking, ignoring her long skirts tangling about her feet, blinking rapidly, until the shout above stopped her.
“Who goes there?”
“’Tis Gavin Mal Verne.” His voice boomed behind her, up at the guard who looked down from the corner of the wall that surrounded the bailey. He was close to her now, and she stopped, turned to him, her face shadowed by the tall wall. She clutched her light wool skirts, crumpling the fabric up into her palms to keep her hands still.
“You may pass.” The permission wafted down from above, but neither Madelyne nor Gavin cared.
“Madelyne—”
“Please.” She held up her hand to him.
“Nay, I will speak.” Anger wavered in his voice. “Do you think that I would give you to the first man who asked? To a man who would hurt you? Foolish woman. Have I not done you enough damage already? At the least I owe you a husband who will be a better man than your father was.”
He passed a hand over his forehead, as though to wipe away the ire. “Madelyne, the reason you must wed is so that you can be safe from your father. He wants to take you back, and he’ll keep trying—he tried in the wood, during your travel here, and he tried under the king’s very nose! The king and I know that he is mad, that some religious fervor burns within him and he seeks to harm others—mayhap yourself. If naught else, he will be incensed that you were taken from him some years ago, and be most unwelcoming to you.
“I will find you a husband only because the king has ordered it. One who will protect you…who can protect you. And one who will be worthy of your lands—which will come to you when your father is gone. And one who will have some care for you.”
He stepped toward her, close enough that she could see the rise and fall of his chest and the movement in his cheek as he paused in his speech. When he spoke again, the words softened against her. “I do not believe it will be such a challenge to find one who will care for you—but more of a challenge to find the man worthy of keeping your father at bay. You are a lovely woman, Madelyne, and you will make a fine wife.”
She looked up at him and her heart nearly stopped when one of his large rough hands came to cup her chin, to slide slowly over the side of her face and throat. The memory of the kiss they’d shared blazed into her and she stepped toward him, into his hand, and felt the firmness of his fingers as they closed gently around her jaw. They touched her hair, at the back of her neck, and an amazing shiver coiled around her ear and down the side of her neck.
“Madelyne, you tempt me so… ” he said in a taut voice, closing his eyes. She did not move, just felt the trembling of his hand on her jaw, cupping around the nape of her neck as the rest of the world moved beyond them.
Gavin opened his eyes, and when he did, she saw a steely resolve glinting there in the moonlight. He dropped his hand from her face and stepped back. “I apologize if I have made you uneasy, my lady. I cannot seem to keep myself…in check…when I am with you.” He gave a little, impersonal bow that made her want to stamp her foot in frustration.
What was wrong with him—with her—with this whole situation?
Madelyne drew her brows together and clutched her skirts with both hands. “Gavin, you’ve done naught for which you need apologize—at least, tonight, here, now. I may be a naive, shy woman who is not learned in the ways of the court, but the barest touch of a man is not about to cause me to turn tail and hie back to the castle screaming rape. I know to expect much more than that on the night in which I find myself wedded and bedded.
“You may escort me to my chambers now, my lord.” She pushed past him, purposely brushing against his rigid arm because her patience had been lost and she didn’t understand why she felt so frustrated and disappointed.
Eighteen
The morning air hung damp with dew and alight with the risen sun. Gavin breathed deeply as Rule trotted across the drawbridge toward the forest. Once past the guards at the entryway, he gave the horse his head and the stallion leapt into fluid motion.
Hooves pounded and the fresh air blasted into his face as Gavin urged his mount on. Over a creek and around the bend of a pathway they flew, startling pheasants and gray hares from their hideaways. His bow and quiver hung over his shoulder, but he was not yet ready to put them to use. For now, he needed to ride…to put distance between himself and Whitehall and all that it held.
He rode at breakneck speed, but it was not enough to put the images from his mind. He’d nearly kissed her last night. He’d wanted to touch her and he had…but it had taken every bit of restraint to keep himself from pulling her to him and into his arms.
How could he dream of touching her when he knew she preferred a life with the Lord…and certainly would not relish a life with the man who’d taken that right from her. Madelyne deserved better than a man who lived only to kill, who dreamed only of violence upon another…who could not fathom a life without the need for vengeance.
He would never marry again. He’d remain alone, wreak his punishment upon Fantin, and then retire to Mal Verne to live until the king would call him to arms again. And thus and so it would be until he was too reckless and was himself killed.
And Madelyne…
Gavin pulled back on the reins. Rule trotted to a halt and they stood, silent and still in the wood that was devoid of birds singing and the crackle of animal movement. Silent and still, it surrounded him and closed his thoughts in upon him as he slipped his fingers into the pouch that carried the rose prayer beads.
Madelyne would find herself wed anon—as soon as he could find a suitable husband for her and the king gave his blessing. She would wed and bed him, as she so bluntly reminded him last night. Gavin’s heart iced over as the images formed in his mind: of the apprehension that would be on her face, of large hands on her pale body, loosening her hair so that it fell to her hips, of a heavy figure poised over hers…of Madelyne kneeling in abject prayer on a stone floor—sobbing. His hands trembled on the reins.
If he did nothing more, he would make certain to select a man who would be gentle with her—one who would not destroy her serenity or her peace. One who would have sensitivity for the woman who would be a nun.
He cursed Henry for burdening him with this mission.
And then he cursed himself for creating it.
* * *
“Do you hunt with us on the morrow, Lady Madelyne?”
“Nay, Lord Reginald. I do not ride,” she told him. “I had no opportunity to learn at the abbey…and, in sooth, I do not care for horses. They make me nervous.”
He smiled kindly at her, covering her hand with his. “Lady
Madelyne, I can understand that. Horses can seem like fearsome creatures…but in truth they are not. They need a gentle hand and can be as tame as a kitten.”
She looked at him with skepticism. “Aye, as you say. I will choose to believe you, but will remain admiring horses only from a distance.”
Reginald chuckled and tightened his fingers over hers. Madelyne gently pulled away from his grasp under the guise of raising her goblet to drink. She didn’t know how to feel about his overt attention, and was even less certain how to act when he flirted with her.
Lady Artemis sallied over and found a seat next to Reginald. Madelyne greeted her politely, but held her breath as she waited to see whether the cat’s claws were extended. “Good evening, Lord Reginald. We have missed your presence in the queen’s court as of late. Will you be hunting with us on the morrow?”
If Madelyne had felt any sort of possessiveness toward Reginald, she would have felt the hair at her nape rise as Artemis looped her hand around his arm. As it was, she took notice, but had no reaction—likely to the other lady’s dismay.
He glanced at Madelyne. “I have not yet decided.”
Artemis raised a black eyebrow into a dark slash. “And you, Lady Madelyne? I should love to see you ride.”
“Nay. I do not ride, Lady Artemis, as you may have surmised.” Meeting the double-edged comment with acknowledgement of its slice was her only defense at this time.
“Lord Gavin is a fine rider,” Artemis added shrewdly. “He is known for his ease in the saddle.”
“Is that so?” Madelyne could not explain why the mere mention of the man should make her heart pick up speed. “Then I am sure he will be on the hunt.”
“I am sure he will… ” Artemis let her voice trail off as she looked pointedly across the room.
Madelyne followed her gaze and saw then the meaning of her words. Gavin sat, tête-à-tête , with the woman named Lady Therese: heads together, and bodies close enough that their shoulders brushed. As she watched, he tilted his head at something she said and gave as much of a smile—and a bark of laughter—as Madelyne had ever witnessed on his stoic face.
