Sanctuary of Roses (12 page)

Her pale oval of a face reflected concern
and determination. Its beauty was marred by a thick streak of soot
over one high cheekbone, running along the length of her face to
the chin, and tiny flecks of black over her forehead and nose.
Wisps of night-colored hair framed her high forehead and caressed
the curve of her jaw.

A sudden fit of coughing caught him by
surprise and she immediately rested a cool, soothing hand on his
chest as if to help subdue it.

She turned to the table, then back. “Drink
this,” she offered, slipping her fingers around the back of his
neck and bringing a cup to his lips.

He drank thirstily, feeling the cool
soothing taste of mint slide down his throat. When he drank, he
smelled its camphoric aroma and felt his lungs begin to expand more
easily. As the heaviness of his breathing subsided, he became aware
of a throbbing pain on his leg, and a more subtle ache to his head.
As if reading his mind, Lady Madelyne spoke.

“I have wrapped your leg with a poultice to
ease the burn there. You have other cuts and scrapes, but I do not
believe they are much more than nicks to you.” She smiled. “It
appears that the ceiling landed on your head when it collapsed, and
though it most likely aches, it does not seem severe.”

He crooked his lips slightly. “It seems that
no matter what it is that befalls me, you appear upon my awakening
to care for me.”

Her smile faded and she stepped back. “’Twas
a foolish thing you did, Lord Mal Verne. Though you accuse me of
attempting to take mine own life, you should make a meal of your
own words! ’Twas naught but foolishness, rushing into a burning
building as you did!”

“Foolishness.” Whatever tenderness he may
have felt for the Madonna-like woman before him disappeared at her
reprimanding tone. “It may be no great loss to you should a villein
perish in such a way, but each life given by God is sacred—”

“Indeed it is,” she interrupted calmly, her
level voice somehow overriding his. “Including your own, my lord.
If you had been killed for your rashness, would not the lives of
more have suffered with the loss of their liege, their protector?
’Twould have been more prudent to have assistance in your quest, do
you not think so?”

So great was Gavin’s surprise at the concern
clouding her eyes that he did not take umbrage with her pointed
words. “I am used to taking such risks,” he replied in his rough,
scratchy voice. “’Tis my duty.”

Madelyne nodded, leaning toward him with a
cloth that she used to dab at his pounding head. “Aye, my lord,
’tis your duty. And is it your duty to wish for death as you take
those risks?”

Gavin stared at her, suddenly caught in the
moon-like pools of her gray eyes. She was so close that her warmth
and serenity covered him like a thick blanket. The cloth on his
face was cool and soothing, and he was surrounded by the scents of
mint and smoke and, beneath it all, woman. “I did not wish for
death this time,” he admitted, hardly aware of what he was saying,
so strong was the sudden urge to pull her to him.

Madelyne stilled, as if she sensed his
churning emotions. “Death would not become you, my lord,” she said
at last, brushing gentle fingers down the side of his face. “And
methinks you would leave much sorrow behind you in this world.”

Nine

Madelyne pulled another offending weed from
a patch of lavender, tossing it onto the stone pathway behind her.
The day was beautiful, with a full, bright sun casting warmth over
all the earth, and the scents of herbs and flowers carried on a
gentle breeze. The garden at Mal Verne had long been neglected, and
she had taken to spending some of her day among the calendula,
peppermint, thyme and ladies mantle.

She’d been at Mal Verne for nearly a
fortnight, and had fallen into a bit of a routine. After the fire,
which had destroyed one portion of the village, the news of her
ability to treat injuries became known, and Madelyne found herself
in some demand for such tasks. Thus, she allotted the morning hours
immediately following Mass to receiving the villagers and seeing to
their hurts. Through Jube, Lord Gavin—as she’d come to think of
him—had given permission for her to use a small storeroom built off
the kitchen for her infirmary. When asked why the villeins did not
seek the services of the town leech, Jube replied that news of her
years at the abbey, and proximity to God, lent her abilities more
credence in the eyes of the townsfolk.

After her time spent with the villagers,
Madelyne was often approached by Mal Verne’s steward, Jonnat, with
issues that would normally have been handled by the Lady of Mal
Verne.

The first time Jonnat came to her with
problems caused by infighting among the seamstresses, Madelyne did
not know how to respond. “How does the lady of the household handle
such problems?” she asked in confusion.

Jonnat looked at her, confusion mirrored on
his own face, and snapped his jaw shut. She saw him dart a glance
around, then return his attention to her. “The lady—we do not speak
of her within the lord’s hearing…or otherwise.”

Madelyne barely refrained from rolling her
eyes in frustration. Whatever the absent Lady Mal Verne’s role in
her husband’s life, it seemed much too extreme that her name not
even be mentioned within the household. However, she forebore to
respond. Instead, she took it upon herself to visit the solar where
the seamstresses worked. With a few pointed questions and some
veiled suggestions that the lord would not be pleased to be
bothered with such trifles, Madelyne was able to smooth out the
problems and get the women back to work.

Jonnat was so grateful—for, apparently, he’d
been unable to handle the catty, spiteful women—that he made it a
practice to approach her with other such feminine related problems.
Madelyne did not begrudge assisting the man, who was a bit elderly
and prone to confusion when faced with feminine wiles. And having
lived among only women for so long, Madelyne was well-versed in
such conflicts—for even in the abbey, there was occasional jealousy
and gossip.

Thus, it was not until after the midday meal
that she found the time to escape to the chapel for some moments of
reflection, and then to God’s other home, the outdoors, to bury her
hands in the soil and encourage the struggling plants to grow.

Since the fire, she’d seen little of Mal
Verne himself. Though he’d been burned heartily by a fallen ceiling
beam, he’d insisted on rising from his bed the following
day—overriding her protests—and going down to the village to
supervise the rebuilding of the burned out homes. She’d heard from
Tricky, who had the information from Clem, that Lord Gavin had
declared that no home be built closer than twenty paces to the
next.

A sudden high-pitched giggle pierced her
ears. Madelyne pulled back onto her haunches and looked toward the
high growth of boxwood, which was shuddering much too violently to
be simply the breeze passing through. Just as she turned, the
bushes next to the thick boxwood hedge parted, and Tricky stumbled
through. She had her skirt clutched in her hands and she was
looking behind her, another giggle tumbling from her mouth, as she
dashed toward the pathway.

Upon seeing Madelyne, she paused, raising a
finger to her plump, berry-like lips, and, eyes twinkling, ducked
behind a rosemary bush.

Heavy crashing announced the arrival of
someone larger and stronger than Tricky, and Madelyne watched in
faint amusement as Jube burst through the hedge several paces from
where her maid had appeared. He skidded to a halt in his tracks
when he caught sight of Madelyne and froze, looking acutely
uncomfortable.

“Hail there, Jube,” Madelyne said, pulling a
small growth of oregano from the midst of the lavendar patch.

The tall blond man stood, tugging at his
tunic and brushing dirt and leaves from the sleeves of his
sherte
, then shifted his weight from boot heel to boot heel.
He looked around covertly, but did not move. “Good day, my lady,”
he said at last, glancing toward the rosemary bush.

“I wondered where you’d gotten off to,”
Madelyne commented idly.

“Ah, yes, my lady. As I knew you would be
occupied for some time here in the garden, I went to see
to…mmm…some other business.” He rubbed his prominent nose, then
pinched the spot where it bent to one side. “Er…has anyone happened
along here recently?”

She bit her lip to hide a smile. He tried so
hard to sound casual, but his gaze continued to dart around like a
butterfly. “Nay, not that I have noticed.” She avoided looking
toward the rosemary bush, which vibrated briefly. “I have been very
busy, though, and may not have seen someone if they passed by
quietly.”

“Mmmm.” Jube clearly did not know how to
react, and ’twas obvious that he was torn between his duty to watch
over her, and his desire to learn where Tricky had escaped.

Madelyne took pity and dismissed him with a
wave of her hand. “Go you and finish your business—I shall be here
yet until the sun reaches the top of that apple tree.”

He smiled at her, and, passing a hand over
his thin hair, gave a quick bow. “Thank you, my lady. I will return
then.” He started to go, then turned back. “If anyone should pass
this way, you may…mmm…never you mind.” And, with a faint flush
staining his pale face, he bounded off down the path with the grace
of a plow-horse.

No sooner had he gone than the rosemary bush
shuddered in earnest and Tricky blundered out of hiding. Her face
was flushed with enthusiasm and her honey-colored hair straggled in
messy wisps, springing from the confines of its braid. “Many
thanks, my lady!” she said.

Madelyne’s amusement grew. “An’ what kind of
chase do you lead him on?”

Tricky sank down on the ground next to her,
reaching for a tuft of grass that grew amidst the thyme. “He
thought to kiss me, and I thought to foil his plans!” She tossed
the grass to one side, heedless of the fact that it missed
Madelyne’s head only by a slight margin.

“If he has overstepped his bounds, you need
only tell me,” Madelyne told her, looking at her shrewdly…while at
the same time, wondering what it would be like to have a man think
to kiss her. Lord Gavin’s face popped into her mind, and she bit
her lip. Had he mayhap thought to kiss her on the wall that first
eve at Mal Verne? And if he wished to, why had he not done so?

Madelyne suppressed the sudden shiver of
heat that slid up her spine, then resolutely dismissed the thought.
A man such as Gavin Mal Verne would want naught to do with a mousy
nun such as she…and, dear Lord, she’d forgotten—he was married! She
pursed her lips, renewing her silent vow to return to life at the
abbey as soon as possible. She’d been with out its walls for less
than a fortnight, and already she was tempted to stray from God’s
path!

“’Tis naught for you to be concerned with,”
Tricky was saying earnestly. “Jube has behaved only kindly toward
me, and I have no quarrel with his attentions.” She beamed,
plucking a daisy, and began to pull its silky white petals from
their yellow center mooring. “He loves me, he loves me not …”

Just then, a dark shadow fell over the two
women. Tricky looked up, squeaked in surprise, and floundered to
her feet. “My lord!”

Madelyne raised her face, shielding her eyes
from the sun that blared behind him, but did not move from her
position. “Good day, Lord Gavin.”

“My lady.” He cast a brief glance at Tricky,
who had begun to melt away into the nearby shrubbery. “Patricka.”
He looked around, then down at Madelyne, who had shifted so that
the sun did not blind her. “I do not see Jube, my lady. Is he not
nearby?”

Madelyne saw Tricky’s sudden intake of
breath and replied mildly, “He was here only a moment ago, my lord.
I believe he stepped away to…tend to some personal matter.”

“Ah. Chasing some unsuspecting maiden most
likely.”

Madelyne stared up at him, aware that her
surprise was openly on her features. Had he actually made a jest?
She looked closely at his face, but saw no indication of good humor
in his eyes. He plucked a stem of peppermint and began to chew on
the leaves.

Tricky stepped backward once more, trampling
on the boxwood. “With your leave, my lord, my lady,” she babbled,
“I shall find Sir Jube and inform him that his presence is
requested.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and crashed
into the thick brush and disappeared.

Lord Gavin peered after her for a moment.
“What ails your maid, Lady Madelyne?”

She shrugged slightly and returned to her
task of pulling up the oregano that had begun to sprout throughout
the garden. Her hand trembled, and she felt her heart leap into her
throat when he crouched down beside her. Out of the corner of her
eye, she could see his scuffed brown boots and his strong tanned
hand resting on the dirt. He was too near, and she could not think
clearly.

“You’ve spent much time setting right the
gardens of Mal Verne, as well as guiding old Jonnat in his tasks.
The villagers speak highly of you and your healing skills, and I
wish to thank you for all you have done.”

Madelyne kept her gaze trained on the plants
in front of her, afraid that if she looked over and was caught in
his stare, he would see what in her eyes she did not wish for him
to know. “I am not used to being idle,” she replied. There was a
silence and she nearly gave in to the urge to look at him, but
instead kept her attention trained on a ladybird that scuttled
along the stem of a daisy.

“I wish also to thank you for tending to me,
and to my hurts. How fares the woman we saved from the fire?”

“Lettie is doing well. Barden’s mother,
Coria, has taken her into her home and cares for her.”

“And how fares she with the loss of her
son?”

Madelyne brushed some dirt from her skirt.
“She has become accustomed to the loss, my lord, and though she
grieves for him, she has found strength in caring for Lettie and
the child she carries.” Now she had the courage to look up, and she
was surprised to see him staring into the distance, his face carved
in emotionless stone.