by Колин Глисон
She felt a sudden rush of the past, remembering the day he’d come to take her from the abbey. She’d been sitting, engrossed in her work, in much the same manner that morning…and, like today, his very action of taking her from her work would serve to cause ripples throughout her life.
His presence arrested the room, and his person—tall, garbed in dark blue and forest green—towered among the women. It was as if the chamber held its collective breath when he entered, apprehension and respect exuding from all corners. Yet, Madelyne knew that the harsh, dark persona was a wall that had been built and she grieved that others could not see past it. With a brief glance at Judith, whose attention was focused, not on her but upon her cousin Gavin, Madelyne slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Reginald was attending me when he was called to the king’s side,” she told him, once the eager ears of the ladies were behind them.
Gavin looked down at her, pausing there outside of the solar, searching her eyes. She had difficulty meeting his gaze, and looked away. “I have come with word as to what transpired in the king’s chambers with your suitor,” he told her. “Let us go to a private place and I will tell you all.”
She nodded, but said nothing as they made their way through the warren of halls, and then outside through a door she had not known existed. Around a hidden corner Gavin took her, past several small buildings, until they reached a small gate, well-hidden around a far corner of the keep.
With a grunt, he unjammed the iron lock and pushed the heavy gate open, gesturing for Madelyne to precede him. She stepped through, and found herself in a small garden, shaded and green and silent. The dull clang of the gate closing prompted her to turn in alarm, but Gavin was there behind her in the garden, standing with his hands at his back. Looking at her.
His face was unreadable—sharp-planed as always, but his lips settled in almost a smile, and his eyes, darkened by the shadow of the corner of the keep, fastened in a steady look upon her.
When she did not move, nor speak, he spread his arm in a wide gesture to encompass the small courtyard. “I bethought you would find peace and comfort here. Few know of it, and you will find it private and a place to enjoy as you will. ’Twas Mathilda’s garden, when she was queen, and it has mostly been forgotten.”
Madelyne pulled her gaze from his and turned slowly to look about the garden. ’Twas small, and half-shaded by the castle wall, which, along with some other buildings she could not identify, enclosed the whole of the garden. Several trees—fruit trees, she thought, spying green bulbs of unripened apples and pears—enclosed a small stone bench. Plants that she easily identified as lavender, basil, thyme, rosemary, calendula, and other herbs grew in pleasing disarray among narrow pebbled paths. Obviously uncared for over time, the garden spoke of casual neglect and it called to her.
She turned back and saw that he’d taken steps toward her. Her heart thumping steadily in her breast, reverberating into her throat, she offered a smile of thanks. “My lord, ’tis very thoughtful of you to think of this. I had been missing my own gardens—and those at Mal Verne—since our arrival. But…surely you did not bring me here for any purpose other than to discuss my future.” Her smile faded as she recollected what that future would be.
“In truth, I brought you here for two reasons, Madelyne,” he told her, gesturing to the bench. “The first was because I knew that it would please you to have a private place to go…and to be among God’s beauty. I have not forgotten your joy at Mal Verne when you spent time in my gardens.” He cleared his throat, glancing at the bench again when she refused his invitation to sit. “’Tis a betrothal gift to you…of a kind…as I thought you would prefer it to jewels or other adornments.”
Madelyne’s heart swelled painfully in her chest and tears threatened to sting her eyes. The foolish man…did he not know how bittersweet this gesture was? Refusing to look at him, she reached for a stalk of lavender, pulling her fingers along its stem. The sweet scent was released into the air as she rubbed the small indigo flowers between her fingers, trickling them onto the ground. “And the second reason?” she prompted, allowing a tinge of annoyance to color her words.
Gavin looked away. “I wished to tell you what transpired in the king’s chambers in a place safe from prying ears.” He pushed his splayed fingers through the wild mass of hair on his head, then his hand dropped to his side as he took a step away.
“Why do you bring me here to tell me what I already know?” she asked yanking a bright yellow calendula flower from its scraggly green stem. “What all the court knows—that the king has presented Reginald with my hand and the betrothal papers are to be finalized.” She began to dismantle the peppery smelling bloom, scattering bright yellow petals on the ground.
“Madelyne, please sit.”
“I shall stand, thank you my lord. I have been sitting all the day. Please, I wish to hear what it is that you must say, so that I may return to my work.”
His chest rose as he took a deep breath; then the words rushed out. “The king changed his mind. He has decreed that you are to wed with me.”
It was a moment before his words penetrated. Her body went cold, and then warm. Rushing with warmth. “You? I am to wed with you?”
He stepped toward her, capturing one of her hands with his own. “Aye, Madelyne…the court will soon know that you and I are to wed and that D’Orrais’s suit was declined by the king.”
“But…why?” she asked, curling her fingers in his palm, her heart bumping along madly.
“He believed I would be the better man to keep you safe from your father…and to manage the lands at Tricourten, when they become yours.” He tugged her closer and found her other hand. “Madelyne, I am pleased with this arrangement…’tis my hope that you will not find it too much of a disappointment.” Though his words were stilted, she saw the uncertainty in his eyes.
“I do not,” she told him, stepping closer to him. “I do not find it a disappointment.” His presence engulfed her…the faint, basic scent of him—something sharp and clean—and the heat of his person. His fingers tightened around hers and he bent his head to press his lips to hers…gently.
Warmth streamed through her, as, soft lip to soft lip, they pressed together…breathed together…sighed together. Madelyne’s lips curved in a gentle smile under his. Tricky had been right.
“Do you find my kisses amusing?” asked Gavin, pulling back just far enough to look into her eyes—and for her to see the faint amusement in his own. Beautiful, dark eyes in which she felt like drowning, they were… unshuttered and open with emotion, soft and bathed in a gentle light. This was a Gavin she’d not seen before.
She stepped back, her fingers remaining clasped in his rough hands. “Nay, ’tis not you whom I find amusing, but my maidservant…and her unerring wisdom.”
“Tricky?” He sat on the bench and gently tugged her to sit beside him. The sides of their bodies touched, and he transferred both of her hands into one of his large ones. With the free hand, he reached to touch a tiny wisp of hair—one she’d not even felt escape from her coiffure—and smooth it back over the top of her head. “What is her unerring wisdom?”
Madelyne leaned slightly into his hand as it slid from the crown of her head to cup the side of her face. She would not tell him all—she must keep some secrets—but some little hint might be amusing. “My maid is determined that she will wed with your man.”
Gavin, his face relaxed from its familiar sharp planes into an almost handsome appearance, reached to pluck a daisy from behind her. “That is no secret she has an eye for Jube…though I would be well-surprised should he decide to wed, as his favorite past-time is to chase light-o-skirts.” He offered her the flower.
She took the daisy, brought it to her nose, then looked up at him from behind the petals, suddenly filled with joy...and something else, deep and warm and unfurling inside her. As if recognizing her feelings, his eyes darkened. His lips parted as he leaned toward her, pushing the flower from h
is path.
“Nay,” she smiled under his mouth, “’tis not Jube but Clem that she will wed.” She kissed him back, now, reveling in how simple it had all become. She loved him and they would wed and they would kiss like this every day.
A shiver of comprehension flitted through her. So this was love, she thought, pressing her mouth to his, feeling his hands as they came around her body to pull her close—as their breaths joined, mingling with their mouths and mixing with their sighs.
“Clem?” he said, pulling back as though the words had just made their way to his consciousness. “Never. He cannot stand the sight of her.”
Madelyne looked at him, as sure now that Tricky would have her man as she’d been certain she would not. “Aye, my lord Gavin, they will wed…for Tricky has a faultless way of knowing.”
“And what would that be?”
“I would not tell you that. Just mark my words and when you learn that I’m right, you may beg my forgiveness for disbelieving me.” She allowed herself one of her rare, capricious smiles and was rewarded by an expression of pure desire—there was no mistaking it—that washed over Gavin’s face.
“Madelyne,” he whispered, pulling her to his chest; not to kiss her, but to hold her ear to his heartbeat, “have I told you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?”
His arms around her, gathering her to him, her head settled under his chin, and her own hands splayed over his muscular back, Madelyne felt a security that she’d never felt before. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Twenty-Three
The news spread like wildfire through the court: Gavin Mal Verne was to wed again, and to the shy little nun who was his sworn enemy’s daughter.
Reginald D’Orrais took his loss with self-deprecating grace, which found him favor with the ladies. And his slightly injured air—a sensitivity attributed to his broken heart—only garnered him more favor with them.
“He appears to be recovering quite well,” Judith commented to Madelyne as she surveyed her friend—soon to be her cousin-by-marriage—in the gown she would wear for her wedding on the morrow. “Maddie, you look stunning! Gavin will be unable to catch his breath when he sees you!”
Madelyne peered at herself in the polished mirror that Judith kept in the corner of her chamber. “Did Nicola look beautiful on their wedding day?” she asked. She had been fighting the curiosity for days—weeks, really, since her arrival at Mal Verne—and now she felt she had the right to know what had happened to Gavin’s first wife. Judith would know, and would tell her the unvarnished truth…and she would live with whatever it was she learned about her husband.
“She was beautiful, aye, in a brittle, golden sort of way…while you, Maddie…you are the cool, sensual, exquisite moon to her brassy, harsh sun.”
“What happened to her, Judith? I have the right to know now that I am to wed with Gavin. All that I have been told is that she took a lover…and that she died on the eve she went to go to him.”
Judith settled back on her stool, looking at her in surprise. “You do not know the whole of it then.” Her greenish-brown eyes scanned Madelyne, and what she saw there must have convinced her to speak the truth. “Her lover was your father, Maddie.”
Madelyne could not contain a gasp, and she felt the warmth drain from her face, leaving it cold and pale. “My father? But…my father is mad!”
Judith took her hands into her warm ones. “Aye. He is mad. But betimes he was a great favorite of the court—at the least, for those who did not know him well. I know from your own words that he laid a heavy hand to you and your mother…and that the smile he bestowed upon the ladies hid only the poison behind it. He spoke of his work with such fervor that he was praised by all—even the priests.
“Work?” Madelyne felt a crawling in her belly. “Aye…his work in that below-ground chamber… I knew only that it was a dark, frightening place…but I do not know what work he did that would have caused praise from the priests.”
“Aye, you must have been too young to understand… Your father is an alchemist, in search of the Holy Grail—the Philosopher’s Stone…which he believes will give him everlasting life. He claims that through his devotion to Mary Magdalen a vision was made known to him in which God revealed the secret of the Holy Grail. He even believes that the saint’s own blood runs in his veins!”
“My father? A holy man? Never…nay, my God would not reward him thus. ’Tis just the proof that he is mad. How is it that you know so much of my father…and yet I know so little?” Madelyne tried to pull the threads of her whirling thoughts together.
“Gregory was my betrothed, the one I was contracted to since birth. He was a boy I’d grown up with. He’d fostered at my father’s house, as had Gavin, and they were friends—although Gavin was the elder by three years. My Gregory made a foolish decision and became swayed by the fantasies of your father, and he tempted Gregory to his side with promises of immortality and power. The same as he has done with many a man. And when they beseiged a keep that belonged to Gavin, a great battle ensued…and in the course of which, Gavin struck down Gregory.”
“Oh, nay!” Madelyne sank onto Judith’s bed. “Gavin killed your betrothed! Judith, I am so sorry… ”
Judith nodded her head, but her eyes were clear. “Aye, ’tis true. Gavin did nothing wrong, Maddie… I know that—he sought only to defend his own, and his people, and he did not know it was him, covered in his helm and filthy with dirt. Gregory, in his foolishness, led Fantin into the keep through a way only he knew because of his relationship with me… aye, Gregory made a terrible mistake and he paid the price. I have long forgiven Gavin, Maddie…but I do not believe he has forgiven himself.”
“And…Nicola? Was she too struck down…?” Madelyne could not speak the words, though fear simmered in her heart. Nay, Gavin could not also have the death of his wife on his conscience…by accident or design.
“’Tis said she was leaving Gavin to go to your father…she raced across the fields and into the forest, and Gavin followed, trying to stop her. He tells me that she fell from her mount—that the horse took a jump it should not have, and she tumbled from his back. I believe that is the truth, Maddie, but there are some who believe that Gavin—in his rage—took his hands to her neck and broke it himself because he could not stand the thought of losing her to another man.” She stopped, looking directly into Madelyne’s eyes.”
“He has too much honor to do such a thing,” Madelyne told her quietly—knowing that her friend needed to hear her affirmation for Gavin.
“Aye, he does. I believe that. And that is why it has been such agony for me to see him as he has slid into this blackness which has surrounded him since the death of Nicola…and that of Gregory. If I could see that anguish wiped from his face, I’d be happy again. Mayhap you will be the one to help him do so.”
“Mayhap I will.” Madelyne sat with her hands quietly in her lap. On the morrow, she would wed him—this man whom she knew not well, but one who’d shown her both gentle and harsh sides.
“It is my greatest hope that you will, Madelyne. ’Tis my belief it is God’s will that you have been turned from your intent to be a nun so that you might save the soul of a good man.”
* * *
“My daughter is to wed with Mal Verne ?” Fantin’s heart roared in his chest and for a moment, his head felt as though ’twas lifting from his shoulders. He slammed his palms onto the table in front of him to keep his balance and stared in disbelief at the man who carried the news.
“Aye, ’tis so. The king—with a bit of prodding from his queen, as Mal Verne tells it—has gifted him with your daughter.”
Yet another reason the queen must be punished. Fantin’s eyes pounded as they bulged in his face.
This cannot happen.
He could not allow it to happen. To have his beautiful daughter—the product of his love with Anne, the manifestation of their pure joining—wed with the rough, dangerous, Mal Verne…
To have the s
acred blood of the Magdalen polluted by that of his sworn enemy Mal Verne.
Never.
Fantin reached blindly for his goblet of wine—a watery, poor vintage, but he could not expect better at this hole where he lived in the town out side of Whitehall. At the least he wasn’t forced to drink ale or water. He choked down five huge swallows before replacing the cup and stared at his man.
“They wed on the morrow?” Fantin could barely force the words from his mouth, dry and raspy from the nasty wine and his own fury.
“Aye. The court is awash with joy over the celebration.”
An emptiness surged over Fantin and he sank onto his chair. There was no way he could halt the wedding…even he, in his pulsing, pounding need, knew this.
All could not be lost. There must be a way. There must be a reason for this. To have his get consummate a marriage with Gavin Mal Verne… ’Twas all he could do to keep from screaming.
If she was to help him, his daughter could not be sullied—dirtied—by the touch of a man, any man…but most particularly that of Mal Verne. As the product of the pristine relationship between himself and Anne, Madelyne was meant for more. She’d been resurrected from the dead, after a fashion, and destined for holiness.
Somehow, he must wrest her from Mal Verne—most especially before she was got with child. Madelyne was meant to play a role in his work, and Fantin would not allow himself to be stopped.
* * *
On the even of their wedding night, Gavin found his betrothed on the battlements atop the castle of Whitehall. He knew this because Rohan had sent the word to him, but then remained to watch over his lady.
She stood near the edge, looking out over the darkness that yawned before her. Her night-dark hair had come loose from its coils and fluttered like so many banners in the healthy breeze. She’d turned her face up to the slice of moon that hung among the dancing stars.
