Sanctuary of Roses (21 page)

Her beads were a comfort in her hands, but
there was little else to bring her ease. All that lay before her
was the darkness of unknowing, uncertainty, and fear.

“Dear Father,” she prayed again, as she had
so many times those last hours, “I wish only to do Your will…to
live to serve You. I place my life in Your hands…I ask that you
show me forgiveness for failing You and the vows I have made to
You….”

Madelyne’s voice trailed as despair and
fatigue overcame her. Now, as had been the case for hours, there
was no lifting of response in her breast…no certainty that her
prayers had been heard…no fulfillment of knowing that her life was
strong and had meaning.

Had God turned from her, knowing that she’d
failed to abide by the vows she’d meant to make? Or was this a
test, challenge for her to overcome. And at the end of the
challenge, should she meet it, would there be the comfort of
knowing that she’d done His will—whatever it would be?

Could it be that He wished for her to wed?
To love a man and wed with him?

A faint scuffle reached her ears, and a
booted foot stepped into the realm of her downcast vision. She
raised her head without hurry, swallowing the first innate fear
that it was her father, and looked into the slightly shadowed face
of a man too slim to be Gavin Mal Verne.

“Lord Reginald,” she said, tempering the
surprise she felt. “Do you come here to pray?” As he extended his
hand, she accepted it and allowed him to assist her to stand.

He smiled, a soft quirk of tenderness. “Nay,
my lady, I but came in search of you. Your maid directed me to you
here…she lamented that your absence had been noted but that she had
a fear of leaving the chambers to come in search of you.”

Madelyne raised her brows in surprise.
“Tricky had a fear of leaving the chamber?”

“A large, burly man had been posted out side
of the door,” Reginald told her, slipping her hand smoothly into
the crook of his arm. “’Twas only because your maid had sent for me
that I gained audience with her. She called him Clem, and he
allowed me to speak briefly with her.”

“My maid sent for you?” Madelyne felt a
flush rise over her cheeks and pulled her arm from his, clasping
her hands in front of her abdomen. Whatever Tricky’s purpose in
doing such a bold thing, she would receive a tongue lashing from
Madelyne at the first opportunity. Such a transgression was not to
be tolerated, even from the sunny-faced Tricky. “Please accept my
apologies, Lord Reginald, for my maid’s interference—”

“Nay! ’Twas no fault of hers. She but
responded to a missive I sent when I did not see you at supper last
evening.” His smile was gentle and friendly. “I merely missed your
presence and wished to have the opportunity to walk with you in the
garden betimes.”

Disconcert flitted through her, and Madelyne
did not know where to look—anywhere but into the warm, searching
blue eyes. “Lord Reginald, I—”

“Forgive me, lady, but you are finished with
your novena? I should have asked you first—I have no wish to
disturb your prayers.”

She allowed a small smile at his concern.
“Aye, I have made my petitions many times…whether they will be
heard begs yet to be known.” Her smile faded, and she felt for the
prayer beads that hung from the kirtle around her waist.

“Surely you are hungry. Your maid appeared
to be much concerned about your lengthy absence, bewailing that you
had not broken your fast.” Now he took her arm again, and pulled it
into the warmth of his elbow. “Please, let me help you to find
something to eat.”

“My thanks, Lord Reginald, but in truth, I
have no wish for food. I fast today.”

“And my thanks to you, D’Orrais, as
well.”

The deep voice coming from the shadows of
the chapel caused Madelyne’s heart to surge into her throat, where
it settled, thumping with fervor. “Gav—Lord Mal Verne,” she said,
turning toward him, pulling her hand again from Lord Reginald’s
arm.

Mal Verne came forward, and she saw from his
stony face that he was angered. When he spoke, however, his words
were simple and even. “I do thank you, D’Orrais,” he said again,
“for seeing to Lady Madelyne’s safety. ’Though she is under the
protection of the king—and myself—” he spared a quick, meaningful
glance at her, “she appears to need some direction to cease
wandering through the keep of her own volition.”

Lord Reginald nodded his blond head briefly,
glancing at Madelyne as though to assure himself it was permissible
to leave her with Gavin. “I didn’t know that the king had a special
interest in Lady Madelyne.”

Gavin’s eyes were steady and cold. “Aye, the
king and myself have great interest in her well-being…and, as well,
there are other parties who have interest only in her
non-well-being. I thus warn you that she will be well-guarded until
such time as a permanent protector is chosen for her.”

Now, he turned to look fully at Madelyne and
his words were for her. “Have you finished your prayers, my lady?
If not, I beg that you will complete them in the privacy and safety
of your chamber. Come with me.” Gavin did not wait for her assent.
He grasped her wrist—albeit gently—and she had no choice but to
allow him to direct her to the place he wished her to go.

That place was outside of the chapel,
outside where the sun blazed down and serfs, knights, tradesmen,
and pages hurried about their business in the large bailey of
Whitehall. Madelyne blinked rapidly as her eyes watered, adjusting
to the brightness. She stumbled as Gavin gently pulled her across
the trampled ground. He didn’t stop, nor did he speak to her—or to
anyone else—until they re-entered the keep. He guided her along the
halls until they reached a private alcove, where he gestured for
her to take a seat.

“Surely you did not mean to seek me out in
the chapel, and interrupt my prayers to bring me here?” Madelyne
asked, sitting on a wooden bench. A tapestry hung on the wall above
her head, depicting King Henry’s coat of arms.

“Nay, I didn’t know you were in the chapel.
Foolish woman. Again that you should be unprotected so soon after
your father’s attack upon you yesterday. Until I received word from
Clem that you had been gone since last eventide, and that your maid
had sent D’Orrais in search of you, I didn’t realize you’d gone
missing.” His face had hardened with annoyance. He appeared
prepared to continue, but Madelyne thought it timely to interrupt
before any passersby might hear his angry words.

“I do not fear harm when in a chapel, and in
the presence of God,” she told him, smoothing her skirt, noticing
the dirt that stained where she’d knelt in the sacristy. “Aside of
that, and more practically, the priest was present during my entire
stay, leaving just before Lord Reginald arrived. Surely you do not
believe I would be that foolish, Lord Gavin?”

“I’m relieved to learn that you weren’t
alone,” Gavin replied. “But I must reiterate again that it is not
safe for you to wander about alone, or to be alone anywhere in this
court. Even in a holy place. Your father is here—unbeknownst to the
king—and he is a dangerous and desperate man. I cannot continue to
protect you if you do not take care.”

Madelyne looked directly into his eyes. “I
have seen the king, he has taken from me my freedom and my desire
to devote my life to God, and thus you no longer have reason to
have concern for my person, Lord Mal Verne.”

“I have been instructed to find you a
husband, my lady,” Gavin told her in a harsh voice.

Madelyne’s gaze flashed to his face at this
announcement, but he wasn’t looking at her. “You are to choose my
husband?” she echoed. “What special talent have you that you should
be thus privileged?”

“The king has ordered it of me—-that is the
talent that I have,” he responded, his words softer now, and his
gaze returning to her face. “Until then, I will keep you safe—and
help you find your way and comfort here at court, now that you, as
you have so aptly described, lost your freedom.” He thrust a hand
into his thick hair, yanking his fingers viciously through so that
it stood wildly about his head, making him look even more
formidable. His annoyance seemed to evaporate with this gesture,
and his next words gentled. “My lady, for the loss of your freedom
and the disruption of your vows, I am truly sorry. ’Twas never my
intention to place you in such a position.”

She considered him for a moment.

To her surprise, she was not angry. Nay,
she’d come to accept it—and him—after this night of prayer and day
of fasting. Nay, she was no longer angry with him. But
disappointed, sad, and disconcerted—and frustrated with the
futility of her position and the loss of her freedom.

“I accept your apology, Lord Mal Verne. Yet
my acceptance is with the knowledge that, though you regret my
inconvenience, if you had the choice to make again, you would make
the same decision.” He began to speak, and she raised a slim white
hand to stop him. “Prithee. ’Tis the man you are, Gavin, and there
is naught I or anyone could do to alter that.”

“And what kind of man is that?” he
snapped.

“A man of honor, of right, of vengeance…and,
aye, of blood….That is the kind of man you are. And the man you
will ever be. Just as I,” she sighed, and looked down at her
trembling fingers, “…I will ever be a daughter of madness, of
despair, and one destined to seek peace and serenity—all the while
fighting to keep those selfsame tendencies from my blood.”

“Madelyne….” He reached for her, then his
hand dropped. “Aye. You have the right of it, my lady. You may not
be schooled in the ways of politics or court, but you are a woman
far too wise in the ways of men.”

Sixteen

“The blood of madness runs in her veins, say
they.”

“She wishes only to take her vows and live
cloistered for the rest of her life. What man would take to wive
such a woman?”

“The lady must be as comely as a horse to
desire only solitude!”

The catty tongues had already begun to wag,
thought Judith as she sat demurely in the queen’s solar. Her
relaxed posture and benign expression belied the anger and disgust
that seethed within her at the nastiness abounding. She had not
expected anything different, of course, knowing that many of the
ladies of Eleanor’s court were self-centered and vain, but their
words served to spark her own indignation.

Before she could decide whether it would be
detrimental to Madelyne to speak in her favor so soon, the door to
the large, open chamber swung inward, allowing entry to a young
page and the source of the raging gossip.

Judith, who had deliberately chosen to
arrive prior to Madelyne instead of escorting her there, sat on a
hassock near the queen, surrounded by some of Eleanor’s favored
ladies. Looking about the solar, she saw it as Madelyne must see
it, entering this world for the first time: ladies dressed in
bright colors, settled in groups about the room. Some sewed on
embroidery, others shared a table of cheese and wine, still others
sat with a lute. Two women pushed, tapped, and pulled on looms in a
corner, weaving new tapestries for the great hall. The chamber was
large and filled with sun, for on this warm day, the large
rectangular windows were uncovered and allowed a comfortable breeze
to flow through.

She flashed a brief smile, catching the eye
of her childhood friend, as Madelyne followed the page who led the
approach to her majesty.
Be strong, Madelyne.

“Lady Madelyne de Belgrume,” reported the
page.

The women, who were scattered about the
chamber, trickled into silence and cast sharp, interested stares at
the lady who stood quietly before the queen.

Judith knew it had taken Tricky a concerted
effort to dress and coif Madelyne in an appropriate manner—richly
garbed in a new gown ordered days earlier, with a few jewels
provided by Judith herself, for the woman still preferred the
simple attire of a nun. But in her dark red bliaut, fitted along
the wrists and waist under the loose crimson overtunic, Madelyne
looked every inch the lady and ward of the king that she now was.
Her thick black hair was wound and coiled in an intricate pattern
of plaits around the crown of her head, with gold netting woven
about and through it. Her lips were dark red as well—mayhap from
nervous nibbling, Judith thought to herself. But Madelyne’s fair,
elegant face was serene as she curtseyed smoothly to Eleanor.

Whatever she was feeling was well-hidden
behind that peaceful countenance.

“You are well come to my service,” said the
queen, a beautiful woman in her own right—and, Judith knew, astute
enough to recognize that this new addition to her ladies in waiting
would provide more than a little disruption. “You come to us from
an abbey, I understand. Tell me a bit about your accomplishments
there so that I may learn how you can best serve me.” She smoothed
her hand over the jewel-encrusted skirts that splayed over the
heavy chair on which she sat.

“Aye, your majesty,” Madelyne replied in her
clear voice. “Whilst there I learned the healing arts, and became
the most learned in the herbary. I tended a small garden of
medicines as well. The nuns taught me to read and write Latin and
Greek, and we studied many of the holy papers. I have learned some
mathematics, though I confess ’twas not to my liking and I did not
fare as well in those studies, and also some geography. As to
embroidery and weaving, I am well-learned there and rather enjoy
the rhythm of such tasks.” She curtsied again.

Judith saw a narrowing of eyes among some of
the ladies, and smirks of condescension from others. Lady Artemis
de Trubell, who sat in a cluster of women away from Eleanor, tossed
her ink-black head and smiled coolly. “You are well-suited to
joining our queen’s court, Lady Madelyne, as we spend overmuch of
our time discussing Latin and Greek writings. And, of course,
French and Italian as well.”