The King's Mistress (12 page)

“Hands marked by honest work are not an embarrassment.”

“But they are, my—Orrick. 'Tis grooming and appearance and bearing that separates the noble-born from the peasants.”

“Mayhap in the land of your childhood, Marguerite. Mayhap at the king's court. But not here in Silloth. Here, the work you do for the good of all matters more than how you look accomplishing it. Here, who you are matters more than what you wear.”

She frowned at him. His thinking was so peculiar. How could he believe these notions? At court, she…

“I am sounding like a monk once again,” he said in explanation. “And being a barbarian from the godforsaken outskirts of civilization, I do not comprehend the overwhelming importance of clean hands and ornately arranged hair.”

Orrick stood and turned away from her, facing into the winds that skipped over the ocean. When he did not face her, she slid off the rocks and walked to his side. Why could he not understand?

“Orrick,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. “Please hear me. I mean no insult to you by my words or by being ill at ease over my hands. This is who I am.”

“No, Marguerite, this is not who you are. It is who they made you think you must be.”

“It is the only way I know to be, Orrick. It is not pretense. It is me.”

He grasped her by the shoulders and stared down
at her, his eyes piercing her with their intensity. “And you would return to that? To a place and to people who value you for your appearance over your contributions? To those who offer you disguise and affectation instead of honest feelings?”

“I…” Marguerite choked on the words she tried to force out. She wanted to scream out “Yes,” but something would not free the assertion from within her. Her place was not here. She did not want to live here. Pulling free of his hold, she stumbled back.

“Have any of your family or those you called friend answered your call for help? Have they inter-ceded on your behalf with Henry?” he asked, stepping forward. His voice quieted until she could almost not hear it above the crashing of the waves. “Will they endanger their own standing to speak for you? Those are the traits of true friends.”

She could not answer him, for her thoughts and feelings were jumbled inside of her. Unable to speak, she did the only thing she could. Marguerite lifted her skirts and ran.

I
n spite of the way his words sounded, he was no holy brother. When the sun shone down on her hair in its enchanting disarray, when her blue eyes glittered like jewels and when her lips parted ever so slightly, he wanted to bury his hardness in her. His body constantly reminded him of the earthy sin of lust whenever he saw his wife…or heard her…or thought about her. Even now, he ached for her.

Whistling out his signal, Orrick waited for his men to return and follow Marguerite before stripping off his clothes and diving into the cold water. Battling against the temperature of the water and the ocean currents were usually enough to stave off his physical reaction to Marguerite. Today he doubted it would be successful.

With steady strokes, he swam a distance offshore and then parallel to the edge of the water. Pausing for a moment, he whistled again, letting the one soldier remaining on the beach and the guards on the keep see his position. He may be irrational swim
ming in the wild ocean, but he was not foolish enough to do it when none could see him. Content that he was under surveillance, he went back to his ritual.

When he felt as though his arms and legs were like stones pulling him down, he pushed his way to shore and walked to the rocks where he'd brought Marguerite. The guard standing between the cliff and the water returned to his post farther down the beach and Orrick gathered up his clothes. Finding the sack of food, he took out the remaining cooked meat, bread and cheese and ate every bit. He waited for the wind and warmth of the sun to dry him off. Drinking deeply from the wineskin, he wondered if he'd pushed her too hard today.

As he suspected and Wilfrid confirmed, she was an intelligent woman with a gift in languages and the decidedly unfemale ability to reason and debate important and worldly issues. Wilfrid had laughed as he told Orrick of some of the discussions that occurred while sorting and organizing his workroom. The old man was more rested and in better spirits since Marguerite started her work there and Orrick felt vindicated even if he had put them together under false pretenses.

Orrick wondered what Marguerite would think if she knew that her father had educated her the same way and in the same subjects and skills that the queen had been educated in. Wilfrid remarked more than once that Marguerite's wisdom and knowledge and canny sense of politics rivaled Eleanor of Aquitaine's. Unfortunately for Marguerite's father, her
young and inexperienced heart got in the way of his plans and fouled up his strategy of replacing the old queen with a new, younger version of the same woman.

Orrick recognized that, if given enough time, she would put all the pieces together. He knew that she would realize that she was not returning to court. He prayed that she would accept her gifts and use them for the welfare of their people. And he hoped that she would open her heart to the love he wanted to share with her.

He stuffed the remnants of the food back into the sack. After tugging his stockings back on and pulling his tunic and over-tunic over his head, Orrick allowed himself to laugh at the last thought. His efforts to avoid feeling anything for her were lackluster at best.

From their first encounter, she had entranced him. Anger, pity, admiration, exasperation, fondness, challenge and an almost overwhelming desire were only some of the emotions she engendered in him. He was not certain why he had been granted the ability to see so much about her, especially the fears she would not even admit to herself and the needs she could not acknowledge.

It had been his gift even from his childhood. He could see straight to the heart of someone. It made him the peacemaker between his brothers then and it made it so much more difficult as lord now. To crush someone or punish them simply because he had the right to do so was impossible when he could discern their motives and intentions. To strike out in anger
was usually not something he did, except, it seemed, when it involved Marguerite's feelings.

This ability made it possible for him to accept her declarations of love for the king and her insistence that she would not stay here. He could discern that she had suffered deep wounds to her soul that made it impossible, for now, to accept what he offered.

So, he would bide his time and prod her to the decisions that no one else but she could make. He only hoped that he would be part of the future she chose for herself when her heart healed.

 

His wife reacted as he knew she would—she withdrew to her room, feverishly writing more letters to those at court who could plead her case with the king. She took her meals in her chambers and would not speak to anyone who went to inquire after her.

Everyone in the keep seemed to be affected by the change in mood between the lord and lady. Wilfrid looked askance at him when Orrick told him not to expect Marguerite's presence in his workroom for a few days. Edmee, enjoying her free time in the pursuit of things other than household tasks, was called back to attend to Marguerite's needs. Gavin was beaten to a pulp on a daily basis as Orrick found another way to wear himself out.

And to his amazement, everyone tried in their own way to entreat her from her rooms. Including himself. When Edmee mentioned Marguerite's continued concern over the ink stains on her hands, Brother Wilfrid provided concoctions meant to remove them. When Edmee told Lady Constance that she was un
able to dress her lady's hair, his mother sent her own maid to see to the task. Even he tried to do something to cheer her—he had a new tunic and gown made to replace the one that she had damaged during her hours in Wilfrid's workroom and a sturdy apron made for her use there.

Orrick recognized that she was trying to confirm herself by falling back to the ways she'd been trained. Whenever threatened, she first retreated and then came out changed a bit. To his surprise, she arrived in the hall for the evening meal just two days after seeking the refuge of her rooms.

He stood at her approach, as did everyone in the hall. Guiding her to her chair, Orrick marveled at her appearance. She was breathtaking in her beauty. Her hair was twisted and tied in some elaborate style with a veil and circlet of gold over it. The dress she wore was the one he had given her, but the necklace of expensive jewels around her neck was not.

Orrick fought the urge to laugh out at her obvious tactics. He might have been insulted by the band of gold and rubies and emeralds had he not known that she was trying to protect herself from his advances. So, he was accomplishing something!

The meal was served and Orrick waited to see how she responded during it. Once more, the polite, accomplished woman was presented, the one who answered questions and shared his food, but kept her distance. Halfway through the main courses, he realized she spoke in English. Did she know what she did?

All through the meal, he observed her touching the
necklace. He did not believe she did it consciously, but several times her hand reached up to touch the stones or the gold and moved them to lie in a certain way. Orrick wondered what the significance of this particular bauble was to her. Finally the meal was over and he rose to escort her back to her room.

“My lord, with your permission I would like to visit Brother Wilfrid before I retire.”

It was not the usual thing to do, but Orrick saw no harm in it. If she wished to speak to the monk, he had no objections. “If you wish,” he answered. “I will escort you there.”

She nodded and placed her hand on his. Walking down from the dais, he led her through the corridors to the workroom off the kitchen and storage rooms near the back entrance of the keep.

When they were but a few steps away from their destination, he paused to ask her, “Do you intend to tell him you will not be returning to help him?”

As she looked at him, a frown crossed her brow. “Why would you think that, my lord?”

He was about to correct her, for he loved the sound of his name on her lips, when two kitchen maids walked past them.

“Your distress over the condition of your hands. If working with quill and ink will mark your hands, we should find some other way for you to assist him.”

“I confess, my lord, that the sight of my black fingers did disturb me at first, but I have thought on your words and decided to continue working with
Wilfrid. At least until his replacement arrives from the abbey.”

Orrick felt a pang of guilt at his deception. No replacement would come for he had not requested one.

“Besides, Wilfrid sent me the most wonderful cleanser that removes most of the ink,” she said, lifting her hands to his inspection. Although a few shadows remained, most of the stains were gone. “And the apron you gave me will protect my gown from damage in his workroom. My thanks for it…and the gowns.”

Her voice deepened to an attractive husky whisper that sent chills through him. She turned to go into the room, but he held her back for a moment, pulling her to face him. Nodding at the necklace she wore, he spoke. “I cannot compete with the gifts you have received from the king, but I meant it with all the best intentions. I did not mean to hurt your feelings about your attention to the womanly details of dress and appearance and wished to compensate you for the loss of the gown you've been wearing to work with Wilfrid.”

Marguerite lifted her face to meet his eyes. “And I accept your gift in the way it was intended.”

Orrick could resist her no longer. Without touching any other part of her, he joined their mouths in a heated kiss. Stepping closer, he lifted his mouth from hers and then took hers again, moving his tongue inside to taste her. When she offered no resistance, he moved his hand to the back of her head and brought her closer. Orrick felt her hands clutch
at his arms and felt her opening to him so he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

Drawing back enough to look at her, he saw that her eyes were closed. He kissed her over and over until they were breathless with deep, wet, hot kisses. Kisses filled with the desire he felt for her. Kisses filled with the hopes and dreams he allowed himself to think about when she was near. With her body between him and the door of the workroom, he pressed against her and let her feel what his desire for her did to him. She was no virgin. She knew the desire she roused in him. All she had to do was say yes and he would join with her.

Suddenly he realized that he was trying to seduce his wife against the door in a hallway. Orrick stepped back and Marguerite followed him. Lifting her hands from him, Orrick tried to rearrange her veil before it tumbled from her head. The damn thing did fall off when the door to the workroom was pulled open from the inside and they both lost their balance and stumbled into the chamber.

“My lord. My lady. Come in and be welcome,” Brother Wilfrid said. “I did not hear you knock at first, but you must know that my door is always open to you.”

Orrick caught Marguerite's gaze and they both laughed at the situation and at what must have made the noise that Wilfrid interpreted as a knock on his door. She gained her footing and replaced her head-piece without his further assistance. He knew the time was at hand for him to retreat so he nodded to them both and stepped into the corridor.

“And my lady?” He waited until she faced him. “My door is always open to you.”

She blushed at his words. Good. That meant she understood his invitation. With another nod to the monk, he left.

Every night for the next fortnight, he left the door between their chambers ajar. Even when her monthly time arrived again and she needed the sleeping draught from his mother, he kept it open, hoping she would seek simple comfort with him. But she did not.

They ate meals together, saw each other throughout the days, but their encounters were polite and brief. She never left the keep and yard and never visited the village. She continued to work with Wilfrid, spent some hours in his mother's solar with her and the women working on the new tapestry for the hall and in all respects save one was an appropriate wife.

Although he knew that his mother had offered and encouraged Marguerite to take her rightful place as lady of Silloth, Marguerite stood back and did not become involved in the running of the keep or the village. The harvest approached and 'twas his mother and Norwyn who oversaw the preparations to bring in the crops, salt fish and meat, and stock up on food and supplies for the coming winter.

Orrick waited for his men to return from Normandy. He hoped that the information they brought back would help him break this impasse with Marguerite. But after a month with no word from them, his optimism began to fail.

The sea became too cold and too rough for his daily swims and Gavin refused to meet him in the yard, so he had no outlet for the tension that grew within him. Ardys made it clear that, married or not, he was still welcome in her bed, but Orrick's feelings for the attractive widow had changed with his marriage. The woman he wanted slept only a few yards from him each night and she would not take the step to bridge that short distance.

So, when he no longer believed his efforts to make her part of his life were successful, he relented and sought out the widow's company in the village. After Marguerite retired for the night, he and Gavin made their way there.