Lord of My Heart (25 page)

Madeleine and Aimery trailed after everyone and saw the men mount. Loaded packhorses were formed into line. Dogs were brought out on leads. Then the procession was passing through the break in the palisade where a gate should be, and off down the road to Warwick.

Madeleine looked sideways at her husband. Here she was, alone with Aimery de Gaillard, Golden Hart, traitor. “You had better let me see to your hand,” she said.

He gave her no trouble. Once the bandage was off, it could be seen that the wound was healing well. The design was clearly a leaping hart, but neither of them mentioned that.

Madeleine put a clean pad over the wound and bound it up with a long strip of linen. “Try not to use it any more than necessary.”

“I doubt Edwin will attack Baddersley, so I should be able to avoid swordplay. I won’t be able to avoid work, however. We must do the king’s bidding and put Baddersley in order. Go and make an accounting of all the household goods and supplies, and I will look at it later.”

With that he walked away.

It had been a curt order, master to servant, stating clearly how it was to be. Madeleine thought back to their time in bed and that mystical feeling of oneness. He must not have experienced it at all. That was disturbing, but she couldn’t suppress a little glow at the thought that they would repeat the experience tonight and every night. She would have that to set against his coldness by day.

Later, however, when she sought him out with the lists prepared, she was apprehensive. Matters were a great deal worse than even she had imagined. In the few hectic days since Aunt Celia had taken to her bed, Madeleine had not had time to make a careful check of supplies. Now she found they were dangerously low, and there was no money. If there had been silver it had gone with Paul de Pouissey.

She found her husband sitting at the desk in the solar working on some figures and drawings. His own assessment of the defenses. She gave him her lists and was left standing there like a servant as he ran an eye over them. He looked up. “We are all likely to be thin.”

She put the matter more plainly. “There is no possibility of surviving the winter. Even if such crops as have been sown come to harvest, it will be a poor supply.”

“Someone should pay for such mismanagement.”

Madeleine swallowed. “My uncle and aunt had the running of the place, as you well know. And,” she added angrily, “the best people were encouraged to run away to other manors!”

“Speak softly, wife,” he said, “or I will be forced to teach you manners.” The silent message was understood. Don’t ever mention Golden Hart.

She brought her anger under control. “What are we to do,
husband
?”

He looked over the depressing lists again. “I will buy supplies to keep us through the winter and to complete the building of the defenses. I will look to you, however, for better management from now on. I think I know,” he added, “where to find some people to bring here.”

Madeleine clenched her teeth. Doubtless he would “find” some of the people who had fled at his instigation. But he was being generous after a fashion and making practical arrangements for the future prosperity of her manor, so it would be unwise of her to object.

She knew he was also making it clear how their marriage would be, and that he had all the power.

Baddersley was in such a state it was hard to imagine recovery—shoddy construction, debilitated workers, empty stores. In addition, Aimery had to straighten all this out while dealing with a wife who could tangle his brain in knots with a look from those heavy-lidded brown eyes.

He remembered those eyes warm with the wonder of her body’s pleasure, and the way they had driven him into the depths of passion. He cursed his weakness.

He couldn’t surrender to her wantonness. She’d already tried to twist him to her will with a threat of exposure; Sweet Savior help him if she ever realized the power she had over him. He had to keep her in her place and remember that she was deceitful and cruel and never, ever to be trusted.

Day after day. Week after week. For the rest of their lives.

Yesterday, entangled in her efficient healing, he’d begun to weaken, but now he reminded himself of her true nature. She had sworn to him she wouldn’t choose him, then had gone back on her vow. She’d also wanted to lie about the marriage bed.

Madeleine was as two-faced as Janus, but she had Eve’s power. The first time he’d touched her he’d known it, but he’d not known then that fate would throw him into her snare.

Tight-lipped, he applied himself once more to the plans for Baddersley’s defense. If he could put it into some kind of order, then he could leave—even if his only excuse was to join William against Edwin. Even fighting his cousin and Hereward was preferable to living day by day with Madeleine de la Haute Vironge.

When the tables were taken down, Madeleine thought of asking for a song or a game of chess. After a glance at her stern husband, she did neither. In the end she simply retired for the night. The sooner he came and carried her off to that special place, the sooner her world would be right again.

She wished she knew why he was so angry. So, she’d said she would marry Stephen and had been forced to change her mind. She had done the king’s will by that, and what terrible fate had befallen Aimery de Gaillard? He was married to an heiress, and one he had seemed, now and then, to find pleasing. Perhaps she should tell him about Stephen, but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to speak of such things . . .

Madeleine fell asleep before her husband came, and woke at sunrise when he rolled out of bed and left the room.

He hadn’t touched her.

He likely never would.

Then Madeleine truly knew despair.

for no one still lives

with whom I dare share

the truth of my heart.

She could not live with this cold courtesy. She wanted his hand to reach for her again with tenderness. She wanted to look up and see his smiling eyes upon her. She wanted to relax with him and share a joke, and see him glow with laughter as she had that once . . .

She wanted him to hold her against him and murmur soft magic as his hand explored her and brought her to pleasure. She wanted a kiss. She wanted him in her . . .

Madeleine leaped out of a bed which held nothing but torture. Plague take all men!

She went out to take up her work as mistress of Baddersley manor and lady of Aimery de Gaillard. There was solace to be found in work; Madeleine threw herself into it with a vengeance.

With supplies likely to be scarce, it was crucial that they be well kept and guarded. She organized the cleaning of the storage rooms and set boys to catch the rats. Then she studied the soundness of the structures and found them wanting. She would again have to argue with a man about the relative urgencies of defense and domestic concerns. She began to look for him, but her nerve failed her. If she sought him out, she’d have to face that coldness again, accept that he hated her. Perhaps in a day or two his mood would thaw.

If it did, it wasn’t obvious. He was punctiliously courteous, but cold. Madeleine strove to be as cold in return, but as she went about her work she was burningly aware of him—on the earthwork, in the keep, training the men in their exercise area. She noticed everything he did, including, one day, a messenger he sent out. To whom?

The fact that he was Golden Hart returned like a blow. Had he enchanted her that she’d forgotten? She’d give her soul to Satan before she’d allow him to continue his treasonous activities from Baddersley. But what was she to do about it? Even now, she couldn’t imagine handing him over to the king’s justice.

She’d watch and wait. If she uncovered proof of his continued wickedness, she promised herself shakily, she
would
inform the king. She stopped by the chapel to beg Sweet Jesus’ mother to turn Aimery’s heart from treason before Madeleine was faced with such a task.

Now she had even more reason to watch his every move.

She noticed how often he stopped for a word or two with the village people, and how often the village person was Aldreda. Madeleine’s reaction was an unpleasant mix of loyal fear and blind jealousy. It had been through Aldreda that he had summoned Madeleine to the hut that day. Was she a go-between for Golden Hart again? Or was their talk of a more personal nature? Which was worse?

When Madeleine checked on the work of her needlewomen, did she imagine the disdainful smirk on Aldreda’s face? Madeleine had to admit that, now that food was more plentiful, Aldreda was filling out handsomely. She could only be a couple of years older than Aimery. The nuns had warned Madeleine that men’s sexual appetites were insatiable. As Aimery wasn’t satisfying them in the marriage bed, he could well be doing so elsewhere.

Madeleine developed a sinful hatred for Aldreda, and prayed hard against it.

Five days after the wedding the watchcorn blew a warning, and Madeleine hurried out from the hall to see two carts and a line of packhorses rolling up toward the gate. For a moment she thought it was the king again, but there was no royal standard.

Aimery was in the training square with the guards. He climbed nimbly up onto the half-built parapet around the palisade and signaled for the train to be admitted.

Madeleine realized these must be his possessions.

Aimery was in mail and glistened with sweat in the heat, but his step was light and his smile broad as he raised his hand to one of the horsemen who was just dismounting. “Welcome, Hugh! You are sorely needed.”

Two hounds in the first cart strained at the ropes that tied them and were loosed. They gamboled over to fawn on their master. There were also two hawks, and Madeleine fancied their hooded heads turned, seeking his voice.

The horseman pushed back his own mail hood to reveal silvered brown hair above a square, rugged face. “So I see,” he said with a twinkle of amusement. “Sweating? After a little light sword work?”

Aimery laughed and gave the man a buffet that would have felled most but merely swayed him. “There’s ten lazy tubs of lard need whipping into shape, and this place to be put into some kind of order for defense. There’s few available workers, and the food lacks variety and quantity. You’ll soon be in a sweat, too. Down,” he said crisply to the hounds, and they sat. But Madeleine could see the longing to dance around him twitching in their sleek muscles. Their bright eyes watched him adoringly.

Hugh’s eyes moved past Aimery to Madeleine, and Aimery brought the man over. The hounds stayed yearningly still. “Madeleine, I make known to you Hugh de Fer. He’s been my Master at Arms at Rolleston and has come here to take that position at Baddersley. With your approval of course.”

A trifle belated, thought Madeleine, but she smiled at Hugh, who looked able and solid. “You are welcome, Lord Hugh.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Matters are improving here, and with God’s help, will continue to do so. We hope not to starve.”

“With God’s help and my money,” said Aimery dryly. Then he asked Hugh, “Have you ever come across Paul de Pouissey?”

The man grimaced. “Aye.”

“Then no further explanation is needed. Come, let me show you the place.” Aimery moved away, then turned back to Madeleine. “See to the unloading. There will be clothes and books, but there should also be food, wine, and spices for you to do with as you wish.”

Madeleine felt gratitude to be in order, and she did feel it, but his tone was so curt that she could not find the right words. Before she did, he walked off, a casual snap of his fingers bringing the hounds to dance at his heel.

If he were to snap his fingers, she’d doubtless dance at his heel, too. She wished she could hate him, but apart from his coldness to her, everything conspired to illuminate his virtues. He was consistently fair, kind, efficient, and hard-working. His rule after Paul de Pouissey was like sunshine after a storm. No, she couldn’t hate him . . .

Madeleine sighed and turned to obey his order. She called for servants and supervised the unloading. Her heart lightened as she saw what he had provided. A tun of wine was rolled off to the cool stone cellar; five lime-washed hams were hung in the pantry; sacks of barley, wheat, and oats were taken to her newly cleaned granary. There was a whole basket of live eels.

Gratitude swelled inside her. Later, she would thank him as she should have immediately. Gratitude flowered into hope. Surely a man so generous could not stay cold forever.

She ordered the bound chests to be taken to the solar. There she and Dorothy surveyed them.

“Should we open them, do you think?” Madeleine asked.

“How else are we to put stuff away?” was Dorothy’s practical reply.

Two small chests were locked, and Madeleine guessed they would contain the precious spices and Aimery’s treasure. The others opened to reveal a range of clothing, arms, and ten books in two boxes.

Madeleine placed the two boxes on the table and could not resist exploring. Most of the books were in English, but some were Latin and French. There was a life of the great English king, Alfred, and another of Charlemagne; an account of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem— the Abbaye had owned a copy of that—and another of a merchant’s travels to Russia; there was also an English herbal she itched to study. With great self-discipline, she closed the boxes. Time enough for reading when the work was done, and if Aimery would permit it.

By the time he came in, most of his possessions were carefully put away in the larger chests, layered with herbs against moths.

He had taken off his armor—Geoffrey was following with it on its hanger—and sluiced off by the well. His hair was still wet and his linen shirt and braies clung to him. He carried his sword and belt in his hand and set them down in a corner.

“Did you find the spices?” he asked.

Madeleine indicated the box. “But it’s locked.”

He took a key from his pouch and went to unlock the larger chest, which she supposed to hold his treasure. He took out a key and gave it to her.

“Thank you.”

He turned back and dug in his chest to produce a heavy pouch. “I never gave you a morning gift,” he said, and passed it to her.

His tone was impersonal, but it was a gift.

“You gave me Baddersley,” Madeleine said.

“That was already yours.”

She considered him. “As you pointed out, you’ve given money to maintain it.”

He smiled slightly. “That rankled, did it? You can pay me back when the estate is prospering.”

That wasn’t quite what Madeleine had intended.

She loosened the strings and opened the pouch to take out a pair of bracelets similar to his flared one but sized for a woman’s arms. On each was a fanciful bird shaped of gold and inlayed with precious stones.

Geld?
Such a gift, uniting them in a sense, could be of great importance, and yet she could not be sure it meant anything at all.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen such exquisite work.”

“They belonged to my grandmother, Godgifu of Mercia.”

“Thank you.”

They stood there awkwardly. In a normal marriage a kiss might be in order, but not in this one.

Madeleine turned and put the bracelets away in her own treasure chest. Then she opened the spice box and checked the contents. Some she moved to her medicine chest, others she left where they were. A small amount she took out to give to the cook.

By that time Aimery had gone.