Sanctuary of Roses (27 page)

“I’m certain that Jube was most obliging
when you offered him comfort in the face of our lord’s ill temper.”
Clem looked idly at the fingers on one hand, then glanced briefly
at Tricky.

“Aye…the man has a charm about him that
would wither the most dispassionate of women,” Tricky responded
lightly. Why was the oaf forever talking of Jube when she was with
him? “While you, sirrah,” she stood, moving close enough to him
that she could tell that he held his breath, “are naught but a
malcontented killjoy.” She stepped closer, effectively trapping him
between herself and the wall. “I wonder,” she mused, running her
fingers slowly up along his arm, “what it would take to lighten
your mood….”

Clem pushed himself away from the wall—and
away from her—and stood at his full height. Not as tall as the
blonde Jube, but much taller than diminutive Tricky. “I must see to
my lord Gavin, for he was injured during the hunt this day. Mayhap
that is the reason for his ill humor.”

She could not help but notice the rapid rise
and fall of his barrel chest. “If you believe that his injury from
the hunt is the reason for his poor temper, Clem de Ardethan, you
are the veriest fool I know!” She poked him in the chest with her
index finger, noting how hard and firm it was. “Look you more
closely at what transpires and you will see that there is more to
it than that! Did you not know that Lord Mal Verne has kissed Lady
Madelyne?”

The expression on Clem’s face was one of
such disbelief that she thought for a moment he would dissolve into
a fit of laughter. Then, irritation flashed across his face. “A
kiss between them? Pah! Even if it were true, ’twould mean little
more than a moment of foolishness on his part!”

“Is that, then, what a single kiss betwixt a
man and a woman signifies? A moment of male foolishness?” Angry
now—after all, Clem had kissed her one time, and the man was dense
besides!—Tricky slammed her hands onto her soft hips. “I vow that
makes you the veriest of fools, Clem de Ardethan!” She whirled,
stalking off down the corridor, away from the man who—she
hoped—stood gaping after her.

Tricky fumed as she rushed back to
Madelyne’s chamber. Men were so foolish—so thick-headed!

When she arrived there and found her
mistress seated next to the fire, Tricky did not hesitate to share
her frustration with Madelyne.

“Clem is the veriest of fools! I can see it
in his eye that he desires to kiss me…yet he makes the greatest of
excuses to walk away!”

Madelyne set her embroidery down and looked
at her with unblinking gray eyes. “Tricky are you so sure this is
true—or do you only speak of wishes?”

“Oh, nay, Maddie…’tis in his eyes and was in
his kiss. It’s just that men seem to fight it when true love smacks
them in the backside. Lord Gavin—’tis happening to him too, you
know. He doesn’t know what to do with his feelings for you.”

“What nonsense you speak.” Madelyne’s
attention was fixed closely on Tricky. “Lord Gavin does not care
for me—he is about to give me in marriage to Lord Reginald.”

“Oh, nay, Maddie…’tis not so. Mark my
words…you will not be wedding with Lord Reginald.”

* * *

“We have had the betrothal contract
prepared,” Henry told Gavin as he drummed his fingers on the table
next to him. The ever-present goblet of wine rested near his elbow,
and a plate of dried apples and a hunk of bread next to it. “All
that remains is to tell young D’Orrais and seal the betrothal. The
wedding can take place immediately after—mayhap this Sunday.” Henry
chuckled. “He’ll owe my coffers twenty gold pieces and two years
service of fifty men for the privilege of wedding with the
nun.”

Gavin drank from his own goblet, draining
it, then moved to refill it. A strange gnawing scraped his inner
belly, and neither food nor drink seemed to alleviate it.

Henry rose and paced over to where his
scribe sat, scratching busily upon a parchment. The man could not
speak, although he could write and hear well, so Henry preferred
his attendance over all other scribes at court. “A missive to
Fantin de Belgrume, informing him of his daughter’s impending
marriage, and the assessment of a fine for our services in
arranging the betrothal, would be in order as well, do you not
agree, my lady? One hundred gold coins should suffice.” He chuckled
complacently.

“Aye,” Eleanor purred from her seat in the
formal court chamber where Madelyne had met with the king only a
se’ennight earlier. “All the court—the ladies most
especially—gladly await the announcement of a wedding celebration.
Indeed, the sooner she is wed and bedded, the easier I’ll be. I
like the girl—she’s no Therese, the foolish slut,” she cast a
shrewd glance at Gavin, who quickly took another drink of wine,
“thank the saints, but she’s caused enough havoc among my ladies
that I am ready to have her out of my sight.” She smoothed her
gown, then looked up. “Gavin, my darling, would you please pour me
some of that wine you have been hoarding?”

“Of course, your majesty.” He found his
voice and moved to do her bidding.

“Gavin, have you summoned D’Orrais? ’Tis
nigh time we had this arranged.” Without waiting for a response,
Henry stood and stalked to the door leading from the court room to
the main alcove. He flung it open, bellowing for a page to attend
him at once.

Eleanor watched in amusement, then returned
her attention to Gavin. “Well, my lord, ’tis the moment you have
long sought. You shall thus be relieved of your duty to Lady
Madelyne, and free to return to your lands—or to your warring,
whichever it is that you interrupted to bring her to our presence.”
A sly light colored her eyes as she curved her lovely mouth into a
smile. “You have served us well, Lord Gavin, now, and these years
past. I am quite sure that my husband would agree, would you not,
my lord?”

Henry, who had sent a page scuttling off to
fetch Reginald D’Orrais, returned to his wife’s side and, resting a
hand upon her shoulder, nodded. “Of course. Mal Verne knows that I
value his service.” He paced over to the table and picked up a
piece of apple, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed like a
cow.

Eleanor glanced at Gavin, who stood lamely
to one side. The queen spoke true…his desire to be free of the
responsibility of Madelyne’s well-being was upon him. Yet….He
looked at Eleanor, and she caught his eye, tipping her head
slightly.

Suddenly, it burst from him. “I would wed
Madelyne de Belgrume.” The words were out before Gavin could bite
them back, and he stood, silent, as shocked by the statement as
Henry appeared to be.

“What?” the king roared, slamming his hand
onto the table and the edge of the plate. The platter flipped onto
the floor, scattering food beneath the moving feet of the king.
“Gavin, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“D’Orrais cannot hope to compete with
Fantin’s wiles,” Gavin explained, the words rushing from his
suddenly loose tongue, the facts and arguments all lining up as if
he’d long thought them. “Nor does he have the experience or
knowledge to manage a fief such as Tricourten at the level of rents
you expect, sire. As well, you have bid me find a manner in which
to contain de Belgrume, and I believe that wedding with his
daughter would give me ample opportunity to do so.” He paused, then
added, “And, most practically, ’tis time I married again. I must
have heirs, and a wife who can minister to me when I am hurt or ill
would be an asset as well.”

Henry smiled slyly. “You would indeed have a
time of it begetting an heir on that nun. She is—” He abruptly
stopped when he saw the black expression on Eleanor’s face. “Aye,
well, then, Gavin, forgive me if I appear to be more than a bit…
stunned…by your pronouncement, as you have bewailed the burden of
seeing to that young woman for weeks now. And now, when you have
the chance to unload yourself, you request to be shackled to her?”
He shook his head, but a grin tickled behind his beard. “Do you
fancy yourself in love with the maid?”

“Of course not,” Gavin replied, gripping his
goblet more tightly. “As I explained, it is the most fitting of
solutions. As you charged me with the task of finding her a
husband, I hereforth make my recommendation.”

Henry looked at him, exchanged glances with
his wife, and nodded. At that moment, the throne room door opened,
and a page announced Reginald D’Orrais, who entered just in time to
hear Henry’s words. “Aye, then, Gavin, you may have Madelyne de
Belgrume to wife. And a very generous fine to your liege as for the
privilege.”

Twenty-Two

When Gavin departed the throne room, leaving
a flabbergasted and glowering Reginald D’Orrais behind, he knew his
first action must be to speak with Madelyne.

As much as he had been shocked by his own
actions, and needed the opportunity to assimilate this new event
himself, he must talk with her before D’Orrais—or some other
wagging tongue of the court—did.

At the least he knew he wouldn’t find her
with D’Orrais this time. Gavin’s mouth flattened into a humorless
smile. If the man stepped foot near her again, Gavin would put him
out of his misery.

This thought checked his rapid
footsteps—only for a moment, but enough for Gavin to reflect on how
strongly and quickly the possessive urge had come over him. He
rather found he liked it.

As he neared Eleanor’s solar—where he was
sure he would find Madelyne, as ’twas midday—Gavin’s footsteps
slowed. What would she say? What could she say, he reminded
himself. The king had made his decision and they would wed.

How would he tell her? Would she wish to
have Reginald in the stead of himself? She had appeared accepting
of that eventuality…yet, there was the kiss they shared….He knew
that Reginald’s kiss could not have affected her the same way his
own had. After all, Gavin himself had interrupted them, and he’d
seen nothing of glazed eyes or swollen lips when they broke
apart.

Still. ’Twas he, Gavin, who had dragged her
from her life in the abbey, and he was certainly not such a prize
as the young, handsome, gentle D’Orrais….

He’d reached the door to the solar, and the
page waited expectantly for him to speak. “I seek Lady Madelyne de
Belgrume,” he told him. It was unnecessary to identify himself.

When he stepped into the chamber in the wake
of the page, the room—scented with the myriad of perfumes of the
ladies and studded with their colorful apparel—skittered into
silence. His gaze immediately found Madelyne and he saw that she
sat near Judith. She was clad in a soft gray gown and white
over-tunic, both trimmed with blue and yellow embroidery. Her
gleaming ink-colored hair coiled intricately over her ears, pulled
back softly to frame her fair, oval face. Their eyes met, and he
felt the unmistakable bump of his heart shifting out of line…and
then back…as he realized that she really belonged to him. He felt
Therese’s eyes upon him, and heard snatches of whispers and sighs
as he strode to his betrothed’s side.

“My lady, I wish to speak with you,” he told
her with a brief bow. He glanced at Judith, who looked at him with
an unreadable expression in her eyes. It was leaning toward a
frown, with a tinge of disappointment woven within. He wondered,
fleetingly, what his cousin would say when she learned the
news.

Or mayhaps she already had, and thus was the
cause for her disappointment.

“Of course, my lord.” Madelyne rose as she
spoke, her stomach squeezing. He had come to bring her the news of
her betrothal. Tricky had been wrong. Her hands trembled slightly
as she put aside her embroidery.

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.”