A Lily on the Heath 4 (15 page)

Judith rose from her seat by the fire, where she’d been working on the embroidery for a small pouch she intended to hang from her waist. It would be large enough to carry some coin as well as her eating knife and the keys to the trunks containing her valuables, which she kept with her when she left her chamber. The kitten, who’d been alternately batting at Judith’s hem and chasing the tail of her embroidery thread, scrambled out of the way.

She opened the door to find a page wearing the king’s livery. “My lady, the king wishes you to attend him.”

Judith froze, her hand clutching the solid wood of the door. “The king?” she repeated dumbly.

“The king wishes you to attend him,” repeated the page, clearly having memorized the message and naught more.
 

Her insides churning, Judith sought frantically for an explanation for such a summons. None was forthcoming, unless he wished to speak with her on the matter of the queen’s falcon. It was a possibility, for the king was known to have a mind that ne’er stopped working, and he would call for his advisors or servants at any time of day or night for any purpose. But…. She felt ill.

“My lady,” the page said, shifting urgently on his feet.
 

“I…I am coming,” Judith said slowly, turning to look about her chamber. Her palms had dampened, and that swirling, churning sensation inside her did not lessen. She snatched up her long cloak, then thrust it aside in favor of a different one—an old castoff she’d given Tabby that was less fine and ornate.
 

Pulling it around her shoulders, Judith fastened the brooch and gave one last glance about her chamber. Then she had no choice left but to follow the page.

He walked briskly through the corridors of the keep and she kept good pace with him, all the while considering and discarding explanations for why the king should call her to him at this time of the night.

There were few people about; the dim hallways, lit by wall sconces and sheathed in tapestries, were fairly empty. In the distance, Judith heard male laughter coming from the men’s chamber—a vast room where the men-at-arms, knights and even unmarried lords slept on pallets until they could arrange for a more private chamber.
 

Nervousness seized her as she passed the queen’s apartments. There was unusual silence coming from behind the heavy double door, beyond which was the chamber where Judith spent much of her days amusing or conversing with the queen. If she was not in those chambers, she was
 
often with the queen in her private solar, copying her legal papers or contracts, or writing letters as Eleanor dictated them.
 

But it was quiet behind those doors, and the fear that aught had happened to the queen spurred Judith to walk faster. Mayhap that was the reason for the king’s summons. Something had happened to his wife, who was four months gone with child.

Despite her current uncertainty, Judith couldn’t help a smile. She had enjoyed the day, enjoyed the company, and most certainly found it amusing to tease Malcolm as she’d done. He was so very serious and sober, ’twas entertaining to try to pique him, to see him draw up those broad shoulders and make stiff-lipped retorts to her jests.

He would make some lady a fine husband. Judith bit her lip.
But not I.

The page led Judith down a narrow corridor through which she’d never traveled and at last stopped before a small door. She noticed an armed guard standing just beyond the entrance at the end of the short passageway, cloaked in shadow.
 

“My lady,” the page said with a bow. “You may enter. His majesty awaits you.”

Judith’s heart was pounding erratically once again, having surged up into her throat—or at the least, it felt that way. Her insides were in such turmoil she feared she might lose her supper. “Thank you,” she said, then loosened the latch and stepped inside.

“Come in, Lady Judith,” said a voice when she hesitated on the threshold. “Close the door.”

She did so, slowly, her heart racing, her palms slippery.
 

The chamber was simply furnished with a myriad of wall sconces and candles providing a mellow golden illumination. A table and two chairs were arranged near a hearth with a roaring fire. A fine rug covered the stone floor. Another table near the wall, which had no windows nor even arrow slits, boasted an array of food.
 

And there was a bed.
 

The king stood in the center of the chamber, as if he’d just risen from one of the chairs and walked toward her. Once again, he was wearing a simple tunic over footed hose. His eyes were dark and fastened on her with intensity. “Lady Judith…come in. How kind of you to join me.”

A corner of her frantic, racing mind wondered if Henry knew how ironic his words were. As if she’d had any choice in the matter.
 

Just as she had no choice in obeying his command to “come in.” Yet she could hardly make her legs move.
 

“My lord,” she said, forcing herself into a curtsy…wanting never to rise again. Because she greatly feared what would happen when she did.

But surely…
surely
…she was mistaken. Surely it was a misunderstanding.

Henry walked over to her and, taking her hand, lifted her to her feet with a firm grip. He was standing very close—so close she could smell the wine on his breath, the smokiness from the fire, the expensive scent wafting from his clothing. His beard and mustache were neatly trimmed and his thick hair curled around his forehead and ears.
 

“Your hurts have begun to heal,” he said, reaching, as he had done only two nights earlier, to touch her cheek. This time, after trailing over the scrape, his fingers continued along her jaw and down over her neck where they settled at the clasp of her cloak. “’Tis glad I am of that.”

With a short, neat movement, he unpinned the brooch at her throat and flung the cloak aside.
 

“My lord, your majesty,” she stammered, stepping back slightly. “What may I—what is your—why have you called me here?”

Henry smiled at her. He was a handsome man, one with an energy many people of both genders found attractive. In truth, Judith had always considered the man magnetic in his personality and appearance. Even now, a part of her acknowledged this: she was in the presence of greatness, of her liege lord, her king, and he was a virile, alluring, muscular man.

But the rest of her…the greatest part of her…wasn’t thinking of him in that way.
 

“Judith, will you have some wine?” he asked. Still holding the hand he’d taken when he raised her from the curtsy, he drew her across the room with him.
 

She must follow, though her knees shook and surely he could feel how icy her fingers were. “My lord,” she managed to say. “To what do I owe this…h-honor?”

The king poured wine for both of them, then handed her a goblet. “A toast, my lady,” he said, lifting his own drink. “To the fair Judith, Lady of Kentworth, Lady of Lilyfare, Lady Falconer…a most elegant, graceful lily in her own right.”

He brought the wine to his lips and sipped, and Judith followed suit. She didn’t know if she’d be able to swallow for her throat was so dry and constricted. The wine was rich and heavy, filled with the essence of berries, and it flushed warmth through her. She set the goblet on the table.

“You have the most beautiful hair I have e’er seen,” said Henry, reaching to touch it. He filtered one of her finger-thick braids between the pad of thumb and forefinger, then at the end, removed the metal case that confined the plait. “’Tis like fire. I’ve naught seen any like it on any other head—man or woman—in all my travels.”

Judith could do nothing but stand there as he pulled his fingers through the braid, loosening it into fiery waves over her shoulder and down over her breasts.
 

“My lord,” she spoke again. “What do you do? Your wife—”

“We shall not speak of my queen this night,” he interrupted sharply. His eyes flashed for a moment.

Judith swallowed hard and nodded miserably. “My lord…please…I am honored that you should…find my hair so beautiful. But I….” She swallowed, desperate for the words to let him know her feelings, yet not to insult. For he was her lord, her king. He held infinite power over her. He could order her banished, imprisoned—even her death. She was at his mercy in all things. “I am weary. I beg of you, allow me to return to my chamber and seek my bed.”

Henry gave a short, low chuckle. “But there is a bed anon. Here in this very chamber. And, I promise it, ’tis more comfortable than any other in the whole of Clarendon.”

“My lord,” she tried again. “I do not believe I would…sleep overmuch in this chamber.”

His eyes cooled a trifle. “Lady Judith, methinks you are thirsty. Drink you more of this very fine wine.” He thrust the goblet back into her hand. She accepted it with trembling fingers and took another drink. When she would have taken the cup away, he reached up and tipped it toward her mouth once again. “There now, my lady. Mayhap you are warmer…and more pliable now?”

She set the empty goblet on the table and tried to keep her quivering knees from buckling.

“Now tell me, Lady Judith,” said the king as he took her hand once more. He drew her across the chamber, over the fine, smooth rug, toward the bed. “Are you still in possession of your maidenhead?”

Her heart nearly choking her, Judith scrambled for a response. If he believed she was still a virgin, mayhap he would allow her to leave. A lady’s maidenhead was very valuable, and not to be given lightly. But if Henry had no intention of allowing her to leave and he learned she was not a virgin, would he punish her for lying to him?

“Judith?” he pressed, unfastening a second braid. “I wish to know if you are a virgin.”

“Nay,” she whispered at last as he tugged his fingers through her hair. “I am no virgin.”

Henry smiled, a warm, genuine smile that, under any other circumstance might have eased her. “I am very glad to hear that. For that will make this much more pleasurable…for both of us.”

With that, he reached up and began to unlace her gown.

SEVEN

A hand on his shoulder
brought Malcolm immediately out of the depths of sleep and into wakefulness. He simultaneously opened his eyes and sat up, fully awake and aware in the instant. Such was the necessary skill of a leader, of a man trained to be a warrior, of one who slept oft on the ground and was responsible for the safety and well-being of an entire village and keep.

But Mal didn’t immediately recognize the man who’d waked him. “Aye?” he said in a low growl, aware of the rows of other snoring, grunting, farting men who joined him in the chamber wherein he was relegated to sleeping. If he meant to stay at court much longer, he must needs find his own chamber.

“Lord Warwick, I am loathe to disturb you, but there is a problem in the stable. With your horse.”

Now Mal recognized the young man as one of the night marshals for the public stable, where he housed Alpha and the other horses from Warwick. But recognition of the messenger was much less important than the message itself, and he rolled from his pallet, launching to his feet in a flash. He yanked on a tunic and hose—for like most of his chambermates, in the summer he slept nude—then shoved his feet in a pair of soft boots.
 

Less than two minutes after he’d been awakened, Mal was following the groom out of the chamber. The first thought he had on hearing the news was a terrible fear that Alpha had been injured by the rabid dogs after all, and that his trusty horse was showing signs of madness. The worry had him striding at such speed that the groom fairly ran in order to keep pace with him.
 

He could have asked the messenger, but that would have entailed slowing and conversing and mayhap the man didn’t even know the answer to the question “What the hell is wrong with my horse?” His destrier was worth more than a small estate, aside from being his constant, trusted companion who’d carried him safely from countless dangerous situations. Losing Alpha would be a devastating blow, both financially and personally.

And so Mal hurried out through the great hall and into a dark summer night that was lit only by a sliver of moon and a distant swath of stars. Torches studding the ramparts above, manned by men-at-arms, added to the illumination of the bailey. But shadows fell long and wide, casting much of the area into darkness.

The stable was lit and Mal rushed in, expecting to find the worst. At his abrupt arrival, the other marshal jolted in surprise, looking over from where he waited at the entrance to Alpha’s stall.

“What is it?” Mal demanded.“What ails my horse?”

“’Tis his leg, my lord,” said the groom, gesturing to the stall. “’Tis raw and red, and the mad beast willna let me touch it.”

Mal was aware of a tightening in his chest when he heard the term “mad,” and he pushed past the groom—whose name, he remembered belatedly, was Bruin—and approached Alpha.

The destrier snorted in recognition when his master appeared and eased what had been a shaking, shimmying sort of dance in his stall. Mal opened the half-door of the enclosure and knelt in front of his horse. Most men would have been fools to do such a thing—placing oneself in front of those massive hooves—but Mal knew Alpha, and he was angled slightly aside, half inside the stall. The powerful beast could crush him against the wall, true, but Mal had a comforting hand on the horse’s ribs as he spoke softly to him. He also knew how to move quickly if need be.