Sanctuary of Roses (16 page)

There were squires and pages dashing to and
fro, dressed in the livery of the king, the queen, and other
nobility. At the least, ten marshals rushed to greet Mal Verne’s
party as the horses picked their way through the crowded bailey to
the stables. Men-at-arms strode through the yard in loud,
boisterous groups, swords and mail clanging to the rhythm of their
steps. Clusters of merchants hawked baskets of fruit, vegetables,
and small cloth items, and Madelyne even saw peasant boys and girls
chasing chickens, sheep, and goats about.

Gavin dismounted near the stables, and
before reaching to assist her down, he turned and barked orders to
three nearby pages. “Make it known to his majesty that the Lord of
Mal Verne has arrived,” he commanded one young boy. To another, he
said, “See that lodging is prepared for Lady Madelyne de Belgrume
near the ladies’ chambers—on the order of the Lord of Mal Verne.”
And to the third, he added, “Send word to Lady Judith Kentworth
that Lord Mal Verne has arrived. I will see her anon.”

He turned back to Madelyne and, fitting his
hands around her waist, lifted her from the saddle to the ground in
one fluid movement as she wondered who Judith of Kentworth was.
Before she even steadied herself, he had turned to Clem, giving
curt orders about the care of the horses, the deliverance of the
baggage that followed, and lodging for the men.

Madelyne stood to one side, watching him—his
face intent and hawkish, his thick dark hair shifting with the
wind, his stance tall and commanding. This was the Gavin she had
first experienced—the harsh, shuttered man with nary a hint of
humor or softness in his persona. She’d thought mayhaps that had
been only a shell that had begun to crack in those days at Mal
Verne, but now, it seemed that she was wrong. That gentle moment in
the garden when he brushed her hair behind her ear, and confessed
that he’d sought her out to enjoy her presence…and the bold,
sensual kiss they’d shared after her rescue: those moments did not
belong to this man, here and now. Mayhaps they’d been only of her
imagining.

“Lady Madelyne.” His deep voice rumbled,
tinged with annoyance, catching her attention over the cacophony of
other arrivals and making a flush rise in her face.

She looked at him without flinching for the
first time since he’d kissed her in the wood, and she struggled to
appear unmoved. “Aye, my lord?”

He offered her his arm without another word,
and reluctantly, she slipped her fingers over the sleeve of his
mail hauberk. They’d taken several steps toward the castle entrance
before he deigned to speak to her again. “’Tis unlikely the king
will grant you an audience before the morrow, so I will send for
you when he does. You may be called to serve her majesty in the
mean while, and if that should happen and I cannot attend you, seek
out Lady Judith of Kentworth. She is very kind and she will help
you in my stead.”

All at once, panic swamped her. Madelyne
swallowed, barely noticing that they had entered the castle called
Whitehall and that they were making their way down a stone hall
filled with people. Some called acknowledgements to Gavin, and
others eyed them with blatant curiosity. A small group of ladies
passed by, dressed in bright, sumptuous gowns, and looked in
askance at her as they offered cooing greetings to her companion.
Madelyne took small comfort in the fact that his response to them
was as cool and unemotional as ’twas toward her, for her mind was
on the matter at hand.

He was going to leave her here—at
court—alone.

The stab of trepidation returned and she
struggled to contain her panic. He wouldn’t leave her if it wasn’t
safe, she told herself as he manipulated them silently down the
hallway. She might be new and naive to the ways at court, but she
would learn them. Remaining here, under the care of the king and
queen, was far preferable to being turned over to her father. A
shiver raced through her, and although Gavin glanced down, he said
nothing.

As they walked along the hallway, Madelyne
renewed her private vow to do what she must to remain under the
king’s care…and to return to the abbey for her final vows should
the king release her.

“The ladies’ chambers are there,” Gavin
spoke, coming to a halt at the commencement of a side hall. He
paused, stepping away from Madelyne and allowing her fingers to
slip from his arm. He appeared to be looking for someone, and she
backed toward the wall, tucking her fingers into the sleeves of her
overtunic to hide their trembling.

A faint musty smell from the damp masonry
reached her nose, and she wrinkled it slightly, hoping that her
lodgings would not be so chill. Gavin gave her a brief look,
followed by a short gesture indicating that she should stay there,
then started down an adjoining hall, craning his head this way and
that.

Feeling bereft and out-of-place, Madelyne
tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, leaning back into
a small corner. She watched in silence as people continued to pass
by, giving her nary a glance as they chattered, argued, or
laughed.

A familiar squeal of laughter reached her
ears just as Gavin reappeared at her side, and they turned as one
to look down the hall from where they’d come. Madelyne felt her
companion spew out a long breath, but he said nothing as they were
accosted by a breathless, bright-eyed Tricky, who was flanked by
Jube, Clem, and Peg—as well as several serfs toting trunks and
cloth bags.

Tricky ignored Gavin and went directly to
Madelyne, taking her hands with soft, pudgy ones, and giving a
sketch of a curtsey. When she rose to her full, diminutive height,
her face was shiny and apple-cheeked. “There you be, my lady! I
made certain to wait for our trunks that they be delivered to the
right chamber.” Glancing at Gavin, who hadn’t done much to hide his
faint annoyance, she spoke, “’Tis said my lord has enough influence
in his majesty’s court to procure a private chamber for you, my
lady.”

Madelyne looked at him in dismay. It had not
occurred to her that she might have to share a chamber with some of
the other ladies of the court, and she waited, holding her breath,
for his response.

“Do you not look so unsettled,” he responded
with a gentler tone than she’d anticipated. “’Tis the reason we
wait here—I expect the page to return with word of your chamber—a
private one for you, my lady, as your maid seems to think you
warrant such.”

“Aye, and costly ’twill be too, my lady. But
’tis the least can be done for you that you do not have to share a
chamber with the other ladies.” Tricky cast a brief yet pointed
look at Gavin.

Madelyne’s dismay turned to confusion.
“Cost? But…what cost would there be—his majesty has requested—nay,
ordered—my presence here. Surely it is not expected….” Her voiced
trailed off as she saw the impatient look on Gavin’s face.

“Lodging is available at no cost if you wish
to sleep in the women’s quarters, on a pallet on the floor, with
the other scores of women and children who follow the court—”

Tricky interrupted boldly—not unlike a
terrier fiercely defending her mistress against a lion in his den.
“My lady cannot stay in such a public place! Lady Madelyne, ’tis
the very least can be done for you to arrange for a private chamber
since his majesty has required your presence here.”

“But at what cost?” she asked, acutely aware
that she had no funds with which to pay for her keep. Her chest
tightened as the reality closed over her: she was completely at the
mercy of the ways of the court, and with no money, she was even
more vulnerable. “I haven’t—”

Gavin cut her off with a curt sweep of his
hand. “Do you not concern yourself with such matters. You shall be
lodged here, and clothed and fed in the manner befitting the Lady
of Belgrume. The expenses will be managed by Clem—send you to him
any costs you incur.”

Madelyne’s voice left her as she stared at
him in a combination of horror and outrage. “Lord Mal Verne, I
cannot accept that you should bear the expense of my stay at
court.” She twisted her hands, still tucked in the sleeves of her
overtunic, but kept her voice quietly even.

He glanced at her as though she were a fly
buzzing about his ear, his brows knitting together in a dark line.
“You were brought to court under my care, and will remain thus
until the king relieves me of such duty—thus your expenses will be
borne by Mal Verne.” When she was about to speak again, he gave her
a quelling look, his face hard-planed and dark with annoyance. “Do
you not fear—Mal Verne can easily bear any expense you might incur.
I’ll hear no more on the matter.”

He turned away to speak with Clem, leaving
Madelyne to glare at him in angry futility. The man had the
unlikable penchant for snapping at one when he wished to hear no
more of a conversation. She withdrew her hands from her sleeves and
folded her arms across her middle, turning from him in frustration.
She did not intend to be a burden to him—or to anyone else. She
would return to the abbey as soon as she gained permission from the
king. What reason could the king want her—a nun—to stay in his
court?

An unexpected shard of pain caused her to
curl her mouth as Gavin’s words penetrated her thoughts. A duty she
was to Gavin of Mal Verne—and naught more than that. When the king
relieved him of his care of her, she would not see him again.

Whether that be a blessing or a curse, she
did not know.

Twelve

“Nay, ’tis not right,” Madelyne protested as
Peg held a length of garnet-colored cloth alongside her face to
check the color with her complexion.

The maid ignored her as she and Tricky
clucked about, discussing colors and styles with the seamstress who
had appeared at the door of their chamber the morning after their
arrival.

“’Tis like the night sky!” Tricky breathed,
sighing over a vibrant blue cloth shot with silver threads.

“Aye, mistress, and silver stars and moons
embroidered on the cuffs,” nodded the seamstress. Madelyne realized
in annoyance that the woman had learned to disregard her protests
almost immediately, turning her attention to the short, plump women
who fluttered about their lady. The seamstress’s eyes gleamed with
satisfaction as yet another bolt of cloth was added to the growing
pile of silks and linens and wools.

“’Tis not right,” Madelyne spoke again, this
time with more vehemence. “It’s too much—the cost will be too
great, and I do not need all of these gowns!”

This time, her objection was not ignored.
Tricky turned to her with flashing eyes, surprising Madelyne with
the indignation in her expression. “My lady, when I agreed to come
with you, I vowed to care for you to the best of my abilities—to
protect you and to serve you. I cannot allow you to dress in rags,
or in clothing that belonged to another woman in another time. You
must be dressed as befits your station, and you must adorn yourself
with jewels and gold—else you will be eaten alive by the wild cats
here!”

Madelyne blinked. How had Tricky become so
seasoned with the ways at court, and from where had this stubborn
streak come? “I am but a simple nun,” she replied, “and I do not
believe that you
agreed
to accompany me…I believe that you
gave me little choice in that matter.” A wry smile suddenly caught
at her face—mayhaps that stubborn streak had always been there, but
hidden by a veil and prayerful hands.

“You are no nun yet,” Tricky reminded her
boldly. “And until such time as you make your last vows and shave
your head, you must bear the mantle of your position. Even you, my
lady, must wear the pretension of the Lady of Tricourten if you are
to have a chance here.”

The seamstress bobbed her head vigorously.
“Aye, my lady, you must listen to your maid—she has the right of
it. And the Lord of Mal Verne has instructed me to clothe you in
such a manner. I cannot disregard his wishes.” The expression on
her face revealed that she was not so much afraid of his lord as
she was loathe to lose the business.

Madelyne frowned and didn’t reply, trying to
forget her sudden aversion at the reminder that she would shave her
head. She could demand that the women go, and leave her to her
simple, borrowed clothing…but mayhaps that would be no more than
slicing off her nose to spite her face. She would need every bit of
influence in her favor if she were to gain permission from the king
to leave his court, and to survive her stay whilst she was
there.

She sighed, and the others, seizing the
opportunity of her tacit approval, returned to their animated
discussion of her clothing. The seamstress left, and by that time,
Madelyne was at peace—albeit temporarily—with the arrangement. It
would be a temporary allowance, and when she returned to Lock Rose
Abbey, she could don the familiar gowns of black and blue linen.
Absently, she allowed her fingers to trail over the smoothness of a
pearlescent silk, reveling in its sleekness. ’Twould be no hardship
to slip into the softness of a tunic made from this cloth, she
mused guiltily. Snatching her hand away, she turned to the small
fireplace and forced herself to say two paternosters and one prayer
to the Blessed Virgin in penance for her frivolous thoughts.

Madelyne had barely finished when a knock
sounded on the door. She started for it, but Tricky gestured her
back and opened it just enough to peer out. She withdrew back into
the chamber and announced in a voice heavy with formality, “My lady
has her first visitor. Lady Judith of Kentworth requests an
audience with my lady.”

Madelyne rose to her feet, smoothing her
gown. “Tricky, please let her in.” She stepped toward the door to
greet the woman who breezed in, followed by a young page and two
maidservants.

“Lady Madelyne.” As she swept in, the other
woman brightened the room with her smile and fiery, golden-red
hair. She paused from taking Madelyne’s hands into her own. “Do you
not remember me?” Her laugh tinkled into the room as she moved
forward, nearly stepping upon a stack of discarded bolts of cloth.
“Our summer of fostering in Kent?”