Sanctuary of Roses (29 page)

This cannot happen.

He could not allow it to happen. To have his
beautiful daughter—the product of his love with Anne, the
manifestation of their pure joining—wed with the rough, dangerous,
Mal Verne….

To have the sacred blood of the Magdalen
polluted by that of his sworn enemy Mal Verne.

Never.

Fantin reached blindly for his goblet of
wine—a watery, poor vintage, but he could not expect better at this
hole where he lived in the town out side of Whitehall. At the least
he wasn’t forced to drink ale or water. He choked down five huge
swallows before replacing the cup and stared at his man.

“They wed on the morrow?” Fantin could
barely force the words from his mouth, dry and raspy from the nasty
wine and his own fury.

“Aye. The court is awash with joy over the
celebration.”

An emptiness surged over Fantin and he sank
onto his chair. There was no way he could halt the wedding…even he,
in his pulsing, pounding need, knew this.

All could not be lost. There must be a way.
There must be a reason for this. To have his get consummate a
marriage with Gavin Mal Verne….’Twas all he could do to keep from
screaming.

If she was to help him, his daughter could
not be sullied—dirtied—by the touch of a man, any man…but most
particularly that of Mal Verne. As the product of the pristine
relationship between himself and Anne, Madelyne was meant for more.
She’d been resurrected from the dead, after a fashion, and destined
for holiness.

Somehow, he must wrest her from Mal
Verne—most especially before she was got with child. Madelyne was
meant to play a role in his work, and Fantin would not allow
himself to be stopped.

* * *

On the even of their wedding night, Gavin
found his betrothed on the battlements atop the castle of
Whitehall. He knew this because Rohan had sent the word to him, but
then remained to watch over his lady.

She stood near the edge, looking out over
the darkness that yawned before her. Her night-dark hair had come
loose from its coils and fluttered like so many banners in the
healthy breeze. She’d turned her face up to the slice of moon that
hung among the dancing stars.

“Surely you do not find wedding with me such
a challenge that you should jump, choosing death instead of me,” he
said quietly, purposely echoing similar words he’d said to her on
the battlements at Mal Verne. Tonight, he spoke only partially in
jest.

Madelyne turned regally. “I knew that you
would find me here.”

Her smile gleamed in the darkness, and he
was overwhelmed with longing. When had she turned into such a
siren?

“What do you here?” he asked, stepping
toward her so he could be close enough to feel her warmth. It was
amazing: the warmth that emanated from her was not just a physical
one…’twas one that enveloped him and made him feel manly, strong,
and protective.

Her shoulders moved gracefully. “I wished
only to look upon the land from here…and to think. My life will
change greatly on the morrow.” She turned to face him, the uneven
stone wall at her back.

“Aye.” His word hung quietly between
them.

“I’ve forgiven you for taking me from the
abbey,” she offered, reaching to touch his face. It was the first
time she’d felt the smoothness of his cheek, and she rested her
hand there, allowing her fingers to soak up every sensation of
warmth and the harsh, short hairs that had sprung up since that
morning’s shave. “I look ahead to my life with you and at Mal
Verne. I’ve come to believe God has directed me in such a way that
I could not balk it.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, still
conscious of the soreness in his shoulder, and pulled her hips to
his. He cared not whether she would feel the throbbing arousal that
lifted between them. “I did not ever believe I would wed again,” he
told her, stroking his hand down the side of her cheek.

“Judith told me what happened with
Nicola…and my father. I didn’t know. Gavin…I am sorry that he
should have been the cause of so much grief in your life….And
Judith told me also of Gregory. She has long forgiven you,
Gavin…’tis time you forgave yourself.”

He sighed. “Ah, Judith. ’Tis ever she has
the loose tongue!”

He pulled her again to him, again only to
hold her head against his chest, to bury his face in her hair while
the wind tossed around them, to allow himself the luxury of knowing
only that moment…for that moment. Her breasts swelled against him
and he enjoyed the knowledge that he would learn every part of
those curves on the morrow.

“When we first met,” Madelyne said, her
voice muffled against his chest, “I saw you as a cold and driven
man, seeking only revenge, and caring little for the sanctity of
life. You acted foolishly during the fire—with honor, but with
little thought for your safety. ’Twas as if you disdained danger,
and relished the opportunity for death.” She pulled back to look up
at him, her delicate features shadowed by the mooncast. “I no
longer see that same need within you, Gavin…and I hope that your
need for danger and killing and war will ease with time.”

“I have more to live for now,” he told her,
stroking her hair as it fluttered under his hand. “We will live
together at Mal Verne with our children, and—” He stopped as she
tensed within his arms, becoming completely still. “What is it,
Madelyne? Verily you did not expect to be released from the
obligation of bearing my heir?” Fear gripped him and harshness
crept into his voice. Surely she did not expect that he would
relieve her of the duty of filling his bed!

He held her away to look into her eyes and
saw genuine fear shining in them, there under the moonlight. “You
understand that I must have an heir, and that any man you would
marry would require that of you!”

Madelyne nodded slowly, pulling from the
grip he did not want to release. She stood with her arms crossed
over her middle as though she felt pain there, and looked out into
the darkness. “Aye, my lord, I know…and it was foolish of me to
forget that. ’Tis only….Gavin, I have madness running in my blood!
I am tainted…and will have tainted children!”

Relief, pure and bold, swept through him.
“Madelyne…ah, Madelyne….” He cupped her face with his hands.
“Listen, and listen well….” He delved into her eyes, searching them
to make sure she saw his sincerity—and the truth therein. “Your
father is mad, aye, but, Madelyne, there is nothing but
sanity—beautiful, warm, sensitive, true serenity in you. I look
into your eyes and I see naught of the madness that clouds Fantin’s
eyes or his actions….Madelyne, ’tis I who should fear tainting your
goodness with my blood should we have a child!”

She stared up at him for a moment, then
began to blink rapidly as moisture glistened in her eyes.
“Gavin…thank you. Such beautiful words…and I see the conviction in
your eyes, and know that you believe them. I can only pray, then,
that you are right and that the madness will not run in the veins
of our children.”

Twenty-Four

“In the name of God, let all know that this
man and this woman are joined forevermore. Let none pull them
asunder, and let them be one until death parts them.”

Madelyne looked at Gavin, and he felt a
surge of emotion as he grasped her hands tighter. He bent to press
a chaste kiss to her pink lips, then another, and pulled away as
the witnesses applauded in delight. Taking one of her hands, he
slipped it into the crook of his arm and led his beautiful bride
from the chapel and into the Great Hall.

They would feast and celebrate—the court had
been waiting eagerly for this opportunity—and as soon as possible,
Gavin would whisk Madelyne away to what was now the chamber they
shared. He’d informed the king in no uncertain terms that there
would be no bedding ceremony. “The sheets may be inspected in the
morn, but I will not have Madelyne subjected to disrobing in the
presence of anyone but myself or her maid.”

The king chortled at his man’s vehement
comment, but acquiesced. “If I did not know better, Gavin, I should
think you were well and truly smitten with the nun. Nevertheless,
it will be as you say: no bedding ceremony…presuming you can
abscond from the celebration in secret. I will not be responsible
for the overzealous actions of your men and peers should they
follow you!”

Gavin had agreed—he’d received more support
from his king than expected—and now, as he sat next to his new
bride at the high table, he had difficulty keeping his thoughts on
the conversation he shared with Eleanor. When Madelyne had appeared
to join him at the altar, he’d felt as though someone had slammed
him in the stomach.

She wore a pearlescent gown of fabric that
shimmered when she moved—the likes of which he’d never seen before.
The undergown and over-tunic were cut of the same cloth, and both
fitted to her body in a manner quite unbecoming a nun.

But she was no longer a nun.

Yet, Madelyne’s garb was simple in its cut,
and decoration. It was the fabric that made her look like a moon
goddess, with her fair, serene face, pale pink lips, and long,
glossy strands of hair the color of the blackest of nights that
hung past her waist. A thin circlet of silver rested about the
crown of her head, ineffective for holding her thick tresses in
place, but perfect as a simple adornment that framed her face. A
large pearl drop hung from the center of her forehead, suspended
from the circlet, and long ropes of blue-white pearls wound around
her neck and swung to the girtle made from silver links.

Gavin had never seen her hair completely
unbound, and now, as it curled at the tips, falling over her
shoulder as she bent to eat, he reached to touch one thick lock. He
lifted it, feeling its weight, and wondered how soon they could
leave the dinner.

He sipped at his wine and continued his
conversation with Eleanor, even as he watched his wife chat with
the king, who sat on the other side of her. Observing her, he could
not believe that only one moon earlier, she’d been a shy, naive nun
ensconced in a cloistered abbey. Today, she spoke more confidently,
moved with more sureness, and most certainly was the most stunning
woman he’d ever seen.

And she was his.

That was enough. Gavin rose from his seat,
leaned to kiss Eleanor’s hand, and said, “Your majesty, I have
greatly enjoyed your presence…but I am off to enjoy my wife now. I
must have you know that I am most indebted to you for urging me in
that direction.”

Eleanor smiled slyly and squeezed his arm.
“You are quite deserving of that prize…and I am shocked that you
lasted as long at dinner as you have!”

Leaning toward Madelyne, he whispered in her
ear, “I bid you excuse yourself, madame, and have Clem escort you
to our chamber. I will join you very shortly. I have had enough of
this prattering and wish to have you to myself.”

Her large, wide eyes turned to look up at
him in surprise, but Madelyne did as she was bid. Gavin assisted
her in bringing the bulk of her skirts from around the chair on
which she sat, and, gesturing to Clem, sent her off in the right
direction.

Now, the trick would be for Gavin to
disappear without the revelers noticing and following him to insist
upon the bedding ceremony. It was his plan to be well gone before
any of them noticed.

* * *

Tricky awaited her mistress in the chamber,
her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed with excitement. “There has
never been a more beautiful bride, I vow,” she gushed, helping
Madelyne from her over-tunic. She unlaced the sides of her
undergown and pulled it over her head, leaving her mistress clad in
only a light chemise.

“The man is mad for you,” Tricky continued
as she helped her disrobe from the shift and then slip into a
cream-colored slip of the lightest, finest linen cloth. “Would that
Clem has come to his senses by now, but it appears that he is a bit
more thick-headed than your Gavin.”

Your Gavin.
Madelyne fixated on those
words. He was, indeed, hers now, and the thought made her stomach
curl and flutter as she thought of what was to come.

All too soon, Tricky finished brushing her
hair and, with one last pat on the head, hurried from the room,
leaving Madelyne to herself. But no sooner had Tricky gone than a
soft knock came and the door opened.

Gavin slipped in and turned to close the
door, bolting it immediately. “I believe I escaped without being
detected…but there is always the chance that someone saw me.” He
turned and froze when he saw her, standing next to the blazing
fire.

“Madelyne…Lady Mal Verne…it is as if every
time I see you, you grow more beautiful.” He stepped toward her,
resting the weight of his hand on her cheek and then reaching to
smooth it down the length of her hair. “Since the moment I met you,
I needed to see you thus…with your hair loose. I craved for days to
know even the color of your hair…and feared you’d shaven it at the
abbey. Now…I wish to see you clothed only in those black
locks.”

Warmth and anticipation skittered up her
spine, and Madelyne felt the full impact of the effect she had upon
the man who was now her husband. With a boldness she did not know
she possessed—or how she came about it—she caught hold of her
shift. Raising her hands above her head, lifting her unbound
breasts under the chemise, and she felt the light linen scrape over
them as she pulled the slip from her body.

When it fell to the floor beside her, she
heard Gavin’s intake of breath and saw the darkness surge into his
eyes. His gaze heavy and dark, he strode toward her and gathered
her into his arms. Her naked body fit to him, all along the length
of him, sensitive to the roughness of his own clothing, the rise
and fall of his chest, and the hardness of his arousal pulsing
between them.

They kissed wildly, as one of his large
hands reached between them to hold the heaviness of her breast, and
Madelyne’s bare feet settled atop Gavin’s booted ones. The mixture
of sensation between the coarse fabric of his tunic and the soft
sensuality of his mouth, along with the demanding strokes of his
thumb over her stiff nipple, caused a great shiver to tremble along
her spine. Something swelled and dampened pleasantly between her
legs.