Sanctuary of Roses (18 page)

Thirteen

Gavin slugged back a gulp of foamy ale. It
burned the back of his throat, warming its way down to his belly,
and settled there, heightening the faint haze that softened his
mind. Someone guffawed in his ear—’twas Thomas, laughing at his own
jest—whilst another companion snorted with mirth, spewing ale from
his mouth and spraying Gavin’s cheek.

With a swipe over his face, Gavin laughed
too, automatically, then took another drink. He leaned an elbow on
the split log table that was sticky from spilled ale and reminded
himself again not to look in the direction of the high table. If he
did, it would seem as though he were looking at Judith and Lady
Madelyne.

Aye, if he turned that way, it might appear
that he was interested in what the ladies were doing, or as though
he cared whether they had been joined by any of the noblemen who
visited the king’s court.

He wasn’t interested and he didn’t care.

On the morrow, he would make certain that
Lady Madelyne had her audience with King Henry, and he and the
sovereign would determine the best way to notify de Belgrume that
his daughter was in their custody. Then, he, Gavin, need have
naught further to do with her, and he could return to Mal Verne,
knowing that de Belgrume was under the king’s control at last.

He tightened his fingers around the wooden
ale cup. Allowing de Belgrume to live was not his preference…but in
this, he must obey his king until Fantin misstepped again. Then,
Gavin vowed, he would be waiting for the opportunity to finish what
had been started seven years earlier.

The sweet sound of a lute caught his ears,
wafting over the dull roar of the diners. Forgetting that he didn’t
want to look that way, Gavin turned toward the high table where
Henry and his queen, Eleanor, supped. Instead of seeking the
musician, his gaze found and settled on the willowy figure of Lady
Madelyne only three tables away. She’d been seated facing him, but
now had half-turned toward the lute player, giving Gavin a covert
view of her profile.

He couldn’t pull his attention away. She
looked so calm and serene, beautiful in her composure in the midst
of the energetic, rowdy crowd. He saw the slim, white column of her
neck—bared now that the thick masses of braids had been gathered
above her ears—and watched the curve of it shift innocently as she
strained to look between the crowd to see the musician. The
bareness of her neck seemed almost obscene to Gavin, for she still
had the aura of an innocent, virginal nun, and the baring of such
skin was too intimate for a protected woman.

He frowned, tasting his ale again, but still
unwilling to look away. He could still taste the sweetness of her
full mouth beneath his, and had no delay in summoning to memory the
feel of her soft curves molding beneath his hands. Desire that he
had suppressed sprang to life, sending waves of heat pulsing
through the core of his abdomen, and lower.

He swore silently, then buried his face in
the ale cup again …but his gaze remained fixed on Madelyne.

Judith chose that moment to glance in his
direction, and Gavin looked away too late. He felt his neck warm as
he jerked his eyes away, pretending to look at the lute-player. His
time would be better spent looking for a willing maidservant in the
stead of gaping at a holy woman.

With renewed firmness, he turned away, his
gaze scanning the rearmost tables for the comely maidservant he
especially sought when at court.

“Who is the woman there?” asked Lord
Ferrell, one of the men with whom he was seated.

Gavin swung to look at him and caught the
eye of Thomas, who had a brow raised in question. Gavin gave a
sharp nod, and his friend replied, “’Tis Lady Madelyne de Belgrume,
Ferrell, lately arrived at court.”

“De Belgrume?” Ferrell’s bushy eyebrows
twitched in confusion. “The get of Fantin de Belgrume? I did not
believe he had an heir.” He turned to look toward Madelyne again,
and Gavin could easily discern the thoughts that bumbled through
the man’s head. “Did he not have a daughter who perished some years
ago? And a wife too? Do you not tell me….” his voice trailed off
and he stared at the woman, his eyes slitting as his brows
twitched. “’Tis not the selfsame woman, is it, Thomas? Where has he
hidden such a beauty all these years?” He made to stand, brushing
crumbs from his tunic and swiping a hand over his wiry gray
hair.

“Sit down, Ferrell, and stick your pecker
back in your breeches,” Gavin drawled, shifting his shoulders to
alleviate the tension that was gathering there. “The wench came
from an abbey—-she is promised to be a nun.”

Ferrell looked at him blankly, then returned
his gaze to Madelyne. “’Tis a good jest, Mal Verne, but I vow, I’ve
never seen a woman who looks less like a holy woman than that
wench.”

“I brought her from the abbey myself,” Gavin
told him, a bit of steel creeping into his voice. “She’s under the
protection of the king.”

Ferrell frowned again, then sank back onto
the bench where he’d been seated. “Bloody shame,” he said sadly,
bringing his cup to his mouth and slurping. “Bloody damned
shame.”

Gavin’s mind echoed those thoughts, and he
swiveled to cast a last glance at Madelyne’s table. His momentary
relief vanished when he saw Lord Reginald D’Orrais laughing as he
took a seat next to her.

* * *

’Twas heaven…pure heaven.

Madelyne sighed, pushing away the knowledge
that, strictly speaking, it was a blasphemous thought, and closed
her eyes. Strong fingers kneaded her skull, threading through her
hair and loosening the ten braids that had pulled her scalp taut
for hours. The dull ache gave way to relief and she sighed again,
resting her head in the palms of her maid’s hands.

Tricky’s chatter flowed in and out of
Madelyne’s consciousness just as her nimble fingers brushed through
Maddie’s long hair. “…Never seen such food! I could barely choose
betwixt the rabbit, the capon, and the roast goose…an’ when they
brought forth the stuffed pigeons, I thought I’d eat to bursting!”
She reached in front of Madelyne for a comb carved of wormwood with
bits of mother of pearl inlaid amongst the etchings on its
side.

“How did you come by such a pretty comb?”
asked Madelyne curiously. It slid smoothly through her hair,
running over her shoulder and along the length of her back, past
the edge of the stool on which she sat.

“’Twas a gift,” Tricky replied smugly,
maintaining her rhythm of long, sure strokes. “Whilst Clem and I
were gone to seek aught for you to break your fast, we chanced upon
a merchant showing his wares. I made such a moon-face of myself
that he had no choice but to buy it for me.” She giggled girlishly,
jerking Madelyne’s hair in her distraction. She froze, smoothing
her fingers solicitiously over the tender spot. “Ah, my lady,
forgive me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Madelyne laughed softly at her friend’s
enthusiasm. Since leaving Lock Rose Abbey, it had become clear to
her that Patricka was in no manner suited for the life of a nun…nor
was Madelyne any more certain that she was cut of a maid’s cloth.
“You didn’t hurt me, Tricky, ’though such inattention could do so
in the future. Nevertheless, you have worked such magic on my
aching head that I would forgive you in a trice even if you had
pulled my hair.” She sighed, smiling, suddenly in a delightful
mood. “I shall remember not to ask you of your paramours whilst you
have a brush in my hair anon.”

“Paramours! Hah!” Tricky nearly caught the
comb in a tangle again, but caught herself in time. “Mayhaps one
could name Jube such, but I do not care for that malcontent Clem at
all
. I wish only to torture the man, for he does naught but
stand about and glower at me. I do believe he could be taking
instruction from Lord Mal Verne.”

Madelyne felt her eyebrows rise at such a
blatant criticism, but she could not fault Tricky for accuracy in
her observations. Indeed, she had felt the weight of Gavin’s surly
stare that evening. Firming her lips, she reminded herself that
’twas she who had cause to be furious with him, rather than the
other way around. Despite the fact that her heart had jumped into
her throat when she’d turned to see him, and regardless of the
acuteness of the memory of his lips tasting hers, Madelyne knew she
couldn’t trust those flighty emotions. She could not trust
him
.

For some reason, that realization pained her
more than leaving the abbey. Emptiness and unease settled around
her, and the back of her throat hurt when she swallowed. Before the
surprise tears could materialize, she stood and Tricky let the comb
slip from her hair. Fighting sadness, Maddie walked toward the tiny
fireplace, her eyes fixed on the orange flames. Peg had set the
fire and it burned calmly in its little enclosure, whilst Peg
herself snored on a pallet in the corner.

“Methinks my lady has attracted her own
paramour,” Tricky said slyly, shoving her comb into a small linen
pouch. She pulled on the strings to tighten the opening of the bag
and glanced at Madelyne.

“What do you mean?” Maddie asked, startled.
A warmth that had naught to do with the fire suffused her face. She
folded her hands in front of her and sat on the stool near the
fireplace, looking over at her maid.

“Lady Judith had the right of it when she
said you would attract attention,” Tricky responded, busying
herself by folding one of the tunics Judith had loaned Madelyne. “I
saw many people staring at you, my lady—”

Madelyne relaxed. “’Twas no more than
curiosity, Tricky.”

“Mayhaps from some, aye. But the tall man
who sat next to you had more than curiosity in his face.” She spoke
matter-of-factly, turning to open a trunk where the other tunics
were stored.

Tricky could have no idea that her casual
words sent Madelyne’s heart sliding into a heavy ball in her
stomach. “Lord Reginald? Why, he….” She allowed her voice to trail
off. He had been very attentive once Lady Judith had consented him
to sup with them, his soft lips pressing lightly to the back of her
hand upon introduction. His blue eyes glowed with warmth and humor,
and his mouth quirked in a ready smile above the deeply cleft,
square chin. “He merely wished to find a seat near an acquaintance
of his,” she continued firmly, recounting the excuse he’d given
them upon approach.

“Mmm.” Tricky continued her business of
arranging the bolts of cloth and other materials left by the
seamstress. “From the back of the hall, where Peg and I sat, he
appeared to spend more of his time conversing with you, my lady,
than any other in the vicinity.”

Madelyne took a deep breath to calm the
churning in her stomach. “I did nothing to encourage Lord
Reginald,” she said, defending herself without wondering why she
should do so—most especially why she should do so to her own maid.
But Tricky had been her friend before taking on the subservient
role, and, in truth, aside from Judith, Madelyne had no one else to
confide in.

Then, with a sinking heart, she recalled her
forward actions of resting her fingers lightly on the edge of his
sleeve as she leaned toward him to comment on a nearby juggler, and
the overbright smile she rewarded him with upon his own jests. And,
she remembered the sharpening of her breath when Lord Reginald
touched her hand, or offered her a tasty bite of venison…and the
increase in her pulse when he smiled at her so.

Mayhaps Tricky had the right of it. Madelyne
bit her lower lip and reached for the rose-bead string of prayer
beads that hung from her girdle. She would pray on her knees this
eve in penance for her coy actions, and she would beg The Lord and
The Mother that they would give her strength to keep from straying
from her path. “Lead me not into temptation,” Madelyne murmured,
fingering the beads.

“Pardon, my lady?” Tricky’s head popped up
from where she had been stuffing clothing into another trunk.

“Nay, ’twas naught,” Madelyne replied,
looking down at her beads. This was the first time she’d meant to
use them since leaving the abbey, though they had always hung at
her side. She had prayed oft to The Father and the saints, and she
attended Mass once a day or more…but she had avoided using her
beads since Lord Gavin had taken her from Lock Rose Abbey.

She wondered suddenly whether he still had
those beads she had given him on his first visit to the abbey…or
whether they had been destroyed or lost. It had surprised and moved
her that he still carried them when he came back to the abbey.

Her fingers worried the strand of scented
beads, feeling the roundness of them and the tiny scores made by
the little paddle she’d used to form them. Gavin’s serious face
loomed in her memory—the harshness and unyielding planes of his
countenance melding into the intense, blazing expression that had
been there in the glen, when he’d kissed her. His mouth had been so
persuasive, so demanding…her body turned to liquid again, now, at
the mere thought of it. She still remembered the thickness of his
damp hair, smooth and heavy under her fingers, and how tall and
hard he’d been…how safe she’d felt.

Madelyne shook her head violently as if to
chase the remembrance away. How could she be thinking of such a
thing? She was meant to be a nun—she had vowed her life to God—and
she should be on her knees begging forgiveness for her
transgressions of this evening, not mooning over the memory of
another sin.

Sin.

Dear God, it did not feel like a sin.

Fourteen

“Your majesty…Lady Madelyne de
Belgrume.”

Gavin watched as Madelyne glided forward and
sank into a deep, graceful curtsey. He stood to the side in the
king’s private court room, near the clerk, and leaned against the
table at which the clerk scratched royal edicts onto parchment
paper. He had arrived at Madelyne’s chamber a short time ago to
escort her to Henry’s presence. She’d spoken little to him, and
he’d returned the favor in kind.