Sanctuary of Roses (19 page)

Madelyne rose upon the king’s invitation,
and pressed a kiss to his ringed forefinger before stepping
slightly back. Her graceful neck was bare again—long and slim and
white, with tendrils of stark blackness wisping about her nape—and
she wore a fine gown of goldenrod covered by a pale yellow
overtunic. The lack of jewelry was the only indication of her
status as a nun and not the well-landed heiress she could aspire to
be.

“Your majesty, I am grateful for the
invitation to your presence,” Madelyne said in a clear voice.

Henry stood next to his massive oaken
throne, his golden-red hair glinting in the sunlight that streamed
through three wide slits in the wall. “We are as pleased to offer
the invitation as you purport to be grateful.” He stepped away from
the chair and across the dais to place his hands on the back of the
empty throne that belonged to Eleanor. “’Tis our understanding that
you have sought sanctuary in an abbey? For ten years?”

Madelyne nodded. “Aye, your majesty, my
mother and I found refuge there after leaving Tricourten.” She
clasped her hands in front of her.

Gavin frowned. “Your mother is dead, as you
told me, Lady Madelyne.” He stepped away from the table on which
he’d been leaning and took several steps closer to Madelyne, so
that he could see her face.

Henry flashed a look at him, then
transferred his stern stare to Madelyne. “Is this true? Your mother
no longer lives?”

“Aye, ’tis true. Mayhap I was not clear in
my answer, your highness. My mother and I made our way to Lock Rose
Abbey, and she perished some three years after we arrived
there.”

“Why did you not return to your father at
that time?” Henry paced across the dais, in front of the two
thrones, his steady gaze focused on Madelyne.

Gavin saw her draw in her breath, oh so
slightly, and then slowly release it before she replied. “Your
majesty, my mother and I left Tricourten because she bore the ill
will of my father, and the weight of his hand. I dared not return,
for fear that he would take out his anger on me…and, in sooth, I
had not the means to return, nor did I know where Tricourten was. I
was only ten summers, your highness, when my mother and I
left.”

Henry pursed his lips, pinching the lower
one with his right thumb and forefinger. “’Tis not uncommon for a
man to beat his wife to guarantee her obedience…still, we do find
it rather ambitious that your mother was able to plan such a
successful escape. By all rights, Lady Madelyne, you should be
returned to your father’s care.”

Gavin saw her face turn to white, and her
mouth pinched at the corners. He felt something akin to sympathy
for her: she obviously had a great fear of Fantin de Belgrume.

“Your majesty, I pray that you would
reconsider such a thing.” Madelyne’s voice, though calm, was a bit
breathless with anxiety. “I have spent these last ten years in an
abbey, cared for by the good sisters, and I have chosen to embrace
the life of a religious woman. Indeed, I should never have left had
you not requested my presence.”

The king raised one eyebrow, glancing at
Gavin archly. Returning his attention to Madelyne, the king asked,
“You are a nun? You have taken your final vows?”

The long white column of her throat
constricted. “Nay, your majesty, I have not shaved my head and
taken my last vows, though ’tis my intent—”

“You have not yet taken your vows? Verily,
you are not a nun.” Henry waved her protest aside with a large,
beringed hand.

“Your highness,” Madelyne began, “’Tis my
intent—”

“Your intent has laid unmet for ten years,
my lady.” His gaze was as shrewd as his words were pointed, and
Gavin felt a bit sorry for her. “You have had ample opportunity to
make those vows, and as you have not seen fit to do so, then we
shall make the choice for you.”

Her eyes widened and her face became even
paler. “You would return me to the custody of my father?” Her hands
were clenched in front of her, the knuckles graying as her fingers
curled together.

“Nay.” Henry stepped down from the dais and
across the room to a small table where he poured himself a goblet
of wine. “Gavin, serve yourself and Lady Madelyne,” he commanded,
stalking back onto the dais.

“Nay, Lady Madelyne, we shall not return you
to the care of your father. In sooth, ’tis our plan to keep your
wardship under our care until a proper protector—a husband—can be
found for you. In the mean while, ’twill keep your father from
razing the lands of our other barons and causing war among them
whilst you are our guest at court.”

“But, your majesty,” Madelyne started
desperately, ignoring the goblet of wine Gavin offered her, “please
have pity—I have made a vow to God that I shall dedicate my life to
Him!”

Gavin saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears
and trepidation tauten her face, and he nearly reached out to touch
her. How terrible it must be to have one’s fate seized, he thought,
suddenly realizing how accurate she’d been when she told him of the
unusual freedoms granted to women in cloistered abbeys.

The knowledge that he’d been party to—nay,
that he was responsible for—destroying that freedom she’d obtained
crested over him like a dash of cold water.

Henry had turned to Madelyne and now looked
at her with steely blue eyes. “My lady,” he responded in his firm,
monarchical voice, “we do not attempt to naysay God, but, as we
have made clear, your dedication to Him has not been formalized,
and thus we take that as a sign, from God Himself, if you wish,
that ’tis not His desire that you do so. We shall hear no more upon
it, Lady Madelyne.” His voice had grown impatient, and he slashed
his hand in the air as if to cut off any further protestations on
her part.

“As you wish, your majesty.” Madelyne stood
humbly, shoulders straight, gaze slightly downcast, hands balled
together at her waist.

There was a prolonged silence as the king
sipped again from his goblet, and it was broken as he set the cup
down deliberately on a small table near his throne. “Lady Madelyne,
you are now a ward of the king, and you shall fulfill your duties
here in our court by serving her majesty, Queen Eleanor. We shall
collect a fine from your father—Burland!” he called over to the
scribe who had continued to huddle over a table, scratching at his
parchment throughout the entire exchange. The scribe’s head popped
up and he blinked blearily. “Burland, send you a notice to Fantin
de Belgrume that we are assessing a fine as recompense for taking
on the wardship of his daughter, Madelyne.”

Gavin caught the glint of humor in the
king’s eyes and could not resist a small grin. Henry did not miss
the slightest chance to add to the royal coffers in any legitimate
manner he could fabricate. Fantin would be murderous with rage when
he received the notice, and there was naught he could do but pay
it.

He sobered as he looked at Madelyne again.
She stood rigid as a statue, as cool and smooth and beautiful as a
marble figure, silent as the men interacted about her. Again, a
pang of guilt thrashed him, but he pushed it away. He was not
responsible for the fact that she’d neglected to make her final
vows, and that was the only reason she found herself in the current
predicament.

“You are dismissed, my lady. We shall expect
to see you with the queen’s ladies hereforth.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” Madelyne made a
graceful curtsey, then turned and walked stiffly toward the door at
the other end of the room.

Gavin caught a glimpse of her set profile,
but she did not look in his direction as she stepped past.

He looked at Henry, whose own gaze followed
Madelyne from the room. “’Twould be a sin for one as beautiful as
she to take her holy vows,” Henry murmured with a wink at
Gavin.

Madelyne heard the king mumble something
behind her, but she was so close to tears that she dared not turn
to see if he yet spoke to her. A low rumble followed the king’s
comment, and she presumed it was Gavin’s response. She did not look
behind to her to ascertain whether Gavin followed. She would find
her own way back to her chamber rather than wait for him.

Holding her head high, she braced her
shoulders at the door to the hallway. A page stood at the high
oaken portal, opening it as she approached, and stepping aside so
that she could find her way into the perpetual crowd that gathered
out side of the chamber.

People milled about in the large, open area,
and Madelyne hurried through the throngs without noticing any of
them. Dimly, she heard the page announce the king’s next audience,
and then heard the door close firmly behind her.

She still clutched her golden skirt in her
hands, but kept her attention focused on the floor made of large
gray stones as she hurried blindly away from the people. She paid
no mind to where she was going, knowing she would likely become
hopelessly lost in the vast warren of corridors and passages…but at
the moment, all she wished was to
get away
.

Her inattention caused her to stumble into
someone, and she stepped aside, looking up to murmur an apology.
When she raised her eyes up the tall form of the man standing in
front of her and saw his face, she froze. All sensation fled her
body, leaving her light of head and numb.

“Madelyne. How good it is to see you again.”
He smiled brilliantly, but she saw the odd gleam in his wild blue
eyes.

She could not speak at first, just gasped
for air as fear and loathing rushed through her heavy limbs. Where
had he come from? “What do you want?” she managed to say with
amazing calmness. “Were you following me?”

His smile turned chill. “Is that any way to
greet your father?”

Madelyne noted with alarm that they seemed
to be in an unusually deserted corridor, and her heart swelled into
her throat. She raised her chin, taking care to keep her voice low.
“You are my father only by an accident of birth. I wish naught to
do with you, my lord, so please step aside.” How could others miss
that madness, that obsessive light in his eyes?

Fantin’s hand snaked out to close around her
arm before she could move past him, tightening into an immediate
vise. “I’ll not suffer such words from you, Madelyne.” He jerked
her once, quickly, but enough that her head snapped back. “Now,
you’ll come with me, daughter. After ten years, ’tis more than my
right to take you under my care.”

Quelling the nausea of fear, Madelyne jammed
her heel onto her father’s slippered foot and yanked on her arm.
Although he grunted in pain, his grip was too tight and he curled
his fingers around her arm even tighter, causing her to cry out in
pain. “Let me be!” she cried, now hoping that someone would hear
their altercation. Surely there couldn’t be any place in all of
Whitehall that was deserted for long.

“Be still!” he growled, propelling her down
the empty hall, away from the faint noise of people. Her gown
caught around her legs and she tripped, falling against the rough
stone wall even as Fantin wrenched her arm to keep her on her feet.
“I’ll have none of your tricks!” he snarled as she slammed up into
the wall from the force of his yank. Pain burst in her shoulder and
along her arm.

“Unhand the girl, de Belgrume.” The steely
voice cut through the air like a sword and Madelyne’s knees went
weak with relief.

“Step aside, Mal Verne!” Fantin whirled
toward Gavin, a hand going to his belt and returning with a
glittering dagger. “I’ll not have you in my way in this.”

As Fantin manipulated them around, Madelyne
saw Gavin through the fog of pain that had enveloped her. Even in
her half-dazed state, she saw the rage blaring in his eyes.

“I said unhand her.” Gavin’s voice was calm,
but the violence lacing it sent a frisson of fear down Madelyne’s
spine.

Fantin held the dagger steady in his
outstretched hand. The grip on Madelyne’s arm lessened as his
attention swerved to the other man. “I suppose you think I ought to
thank you for finding her for me, Mal Verne,” he sneered, “but
’twas truly God’s working and not any deed of yours.”

They froze like two hounds taking each
other’s measure, then suddenly Gavin moved. Fantin gasped in pain
as the younger man’s foot came in contact with his wrist, and the
dagger flew through the air. With one quick movement, assisted by
the surprise and pain that immobilized Fantin, Gavin grasped the
man by the front of his fine tunic and slammed him up against the
wall.

Madelyne was able to pull free, and she
retreated from the two men, rubbing her aching shoulder and bruised
arm, and trembling from head to toe.

“She is under the protection of the king,”
Gavin gritted from between clenched teeth as his hand closed over
Fantin’s throat.

“The king?” Fantin’s voice had a decidedly
unmasculine squeak to it.

“The king,” Gavin affirmed in a calmer
voice. He made as if to release him, but then it was as if the
anger swept through him anew. Madelyne could tell by the renewed
consternation on her father’s face just when Gavin’s fury returned.
“Methinks I ought to put an end to this now,” he murmured in a
terrible voice. “I ought to have finished you long ago.”

Fantin’s face flushed darkly when the band
of fingers constricted, just as his own had around Madelyne’s arm.
“Your lack of success in doing just that is legendary, Mal Verne,”
he managed to gasp. “What makes you believe you’ll succeed this
time? ’Tis I who have God’s strength behind me!”

Madelyne saw Gavin’s stone face darken,
tightening murderously, and she muffled a gasp as she saw his
intent. “Nay, Gavin, nay! Do not! ’Tis not right!”

It was a long moment, and Madelyne fairly
stopped breathing—but in the end, Gavin relented and abruptly
loosed his grip on Fantin’s throat. The man slumped to his knees,
pure loathing settling on his face, as he looked around Gavin to
shoot a poison look at Madelyne.