The King's Mistress (15 page)

“And you still wish to return to the king knowing that?” How could she place so little value on herself?

“The king does not want me back, Orrick. He has washed his hands of me.” Her voice was hollow as she spoke. But through the emotionless tone, he could feel the pain emanating from within her. “I was simply one in a line of available bodies in his bed. He used me, and then when I left court and my father feared losing his influence, he was given my sister.”

“Your sister?” He shook his head. He did not know this.

“She was not as well trained as I nor so ready as I to accept the honor of being the king's whore.” Orrick winced at her words. “She escaped and begged the bishop to admit her to the convent. That is how she ended up there.”

“Marguerite,” he began, not knowing what to say.

“Did you know of the woman he called his ‘lovely English rose'?” Her gaze was sharper now. He nodded. Everyone in England had heard about the king's affair with Rosamunde Clifford. Even Eleanor in her captivity knew of fair Rosamunde. “He used to call me his lovely lily of Alencon.”

She broke free from his hold and took a few steps away. He searched his heart for something to say, something that would ease the terrible betrayal she
had suffered. But he could find nothing that would not sound contrived or false.

“You did try to warn me. I just was not ready to listen.” She turned and gave him a sad smile. “'Twas too late even the day of our wedding, but I could not believe you. I was still living my father's truths.”

“Was it not unkind for your sister to reveal these things to you when no good can come of knowing them?”

“Dominique is not a cruel person, Orrick. She thought to give me reasons to rejoice in our marriage. She did not know that I did not choose this. She thought that I had somehow managed to escape our father's plans and wanted me to know that I had made the right decision.” Tears streamed down Marguerite's face now. “She did not know that you do not want me, either.”

“Marguerite, I want you.”

“Oh, yes, that way.” She nodded at him. “I know of your desire to bed me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, yes, that way, too. But I have wanted you as my wife since I met you in that little chamber at Woodstock.”

“But I insulted you and rejected you. Why would you even consider me for your wife?” She reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

He lifted his hand and completed the task. “Because I need more in a wife than a bedmate. I need a wife who can oversee my lands and my people. I need a wife to whom I can talk about many subjects. I need a wife who can hold her own with my Scots
friend and the brothers at Abbeytown. I want a wife who can think and speak for herself and can be my helpmate.”

“You see more in me than I think is there, Orrick.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I have been told that before.”

“I cannot promise that my past will disappear. Or that I can fulfill the needs you have in a wife.”

“Marguerite, you can make the choice,” he said. She visibly startled at his words. “I will not force you to stay. My offer to send you to your sister stands.” He looked away before saying the rest for it was painful for him to admit this truth. “I know you do not love me as you love Henry, but I would make a good husband if you stay.”

He knew that if she agreed now to stay it would be because of the terrible secrets she had shared with him and out of a sense of beholding. He did not want that. She began to give him an answer, but he held his finger to her lips stopping her.

“If you stay, it must be your choice. I am no longer willing to have a wife who is not a wife. If you stay, your life will not be as it was in Alencon or at the court. Overseeing Silloth and my other estates is a tremendous amount of work and even my wife will do her part. My mother is gaining in years and cannot do as she did in her younger days. The lady of Silloth will have many responsibilities to fill her days.”

Orrick stepped back and held out his hand to her.
“Take some time to make your decision. Come to me when you have made it.”

She nodded in reply and he trotted over to his horse. Mounting, he held out his hand to her and helped her up behind him. She pressed up against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist and he touched the horse's sides to spur it on. If anyone in the village or the yard thought it strange to see the lord and lady return together after such a tumultuous day, they did not comment on it. Riding through the gate, Orrick offered up a prayer that he would be her choice.

“W
hen will you stop acting like a dim-witted, lovesick fool and tell the woman what everyone else in this keep knows?”

Gavin had caught him off guard and Orrick reeled back away from the open window that overlooked the keep's walled-in gardens. Marguerite worked there below with Wilfrid, gathering herbs and clearing away weeds. He grabbed his friend's tunic and dragged him far enough away so that their voices would not carry out to the garden.

“Damn you, Gavin! Have you no care for my privacy?” Orrick tossed the Scot to the ground.

Jumping to his feet and dusting himself off, Gavin laughed. “She is your wife. Just take her to your bed.”

“With that approach to women, I wonder not how you have escaped the bonds of marriage.” Orrick waved him closer. “I hope you meet your match when your uncle summons you home to a bride.”

Gavin shuddered. “Do not be wishing such a thing
on me just because you must suffer it. Besides, my ‘approach to women,' as you call it, seems to yield many willing women in my bed. When it is time, any bride I marry will be a compliant, obedient lass, not like the willful, prickly one you married.”

His friend shuddered again, and now it was Orrick's turn to laugh. “'Twould not surprise me if you have as many challenges in your marriage as I have now. God's luck be with you in that. So, did you come only to torment me or did you have some news?” Orrick walked toward the hall with Gavin in tow.

“Although I would like nothing better than to witness it, François has offered to lead your escort to Abbeytown. He said all is ready for your departure in the morning.”

Orrick still had not told Marguerite that she was accompanying him to the abbey on the morrow. Except for her brief escape to the beach over a week ago, she had not left the walls of Silloth. And in spite of his words giving her the choice of staying here, with him, or leaving, he had no intention of leaving her decision to chance or whim. And with this visit to the abbey, he was boldly bribing her.

“You have not told her yet, have you?”

“Not told her what?” he asked, not wanting to give his friend something more to harass him about.

Gavin smacked him on the shoulder and laughed. “'Twould appear that you have not told her she is traveling with you to the abbey and you've not told her that you love her.”

“Do not tread there, friend,” he warned. “She
will know of the journey before dinner. The other is not something I plan to reveal to her.”

“Orrick, as I said before, everyone in Silloth knows how you feel about the lady, except her. Your mooning gaze follows her every step. You are never far from her side. Just tell her she is yours and tell her she is staying and be done with this torment.”

Now he laughed. If it were as easy as that. “I cannot compete with the love she bears for Henry.” He offered his fear to his friend. “He is her first love and in spite of knowing now of his betrayal, she loves him still.”

Gavin frowned at him and stopped. Leaning against the wall of the corridor and crossing his arms, Gavin shook his head.

“Did she tell you that she still loves him? She is far too intelligent for that. If she knows what you told to me, she cannot yet have tender feelings for him.”

“She is a woman,” he said. He had not revealed the other bond that would always keep Marguerite's heart bound to the king's. Even though she knew about Henry's other offspring, sharing a daughter with the king would always allow Henry a foothold in her heart.

“But not a fool. Not now when she knows the deception and lies,” Gavin said, shaking his head. “She is too smart for that.”

“When did you become her supporter? You did not trust her.”

“I have always admired pluck in a woman, Orrick. And I would not wish a bride for you like that one
you last considered…what was her name? She came from near your mother's dower keep in Ravenglass.”

Eloise, daughter of Lord Rupert of Furness. Orrick fought to contain his shudder. Lucky for him, meeting the prospective bride was part of his demand to his father for agreeing to the betrothal. The overwhelming ferocity of her religious practices unnerved him. He did not want a wife who, at their first introduction, sank to her knees praying that she would be spared from the abomination of carnal knowledge in their marriage.

Now Gavin joined him in shuddering as they both remembered the vivid scene of wailing women and Lord Rupert's reaction to his daughter's behavior that happened here at Silloth just before Orrick's father died. The debacle had so upset his mother that she did not pursue another match for him. “The Almighty must have the sense of humor of a Scot,” he said laughing.

“Is this an insult or a compliment, Orrick?”

“I am not certain, but it seems strange that He sends brides my way that are so extreme in their differences. Lady Eloise who would have died happily a virgin within our marriage for one reason and Lady Marguerite who seems quite happy to avoid my bed for another. A strange sense of humor indeed.”

“What will you do, Orrick? If Henry gave her to you, I cannot believe he will support an end to your marriage.”

They arrived at the hall. Orrick slowed and lowered his voice to Gavin. “I had truly hoped that once she adjusted to the reality of our marriage she would
settle to it. I never did want her to learn the truths of Henry's other women or to crush her spirit with the existence of those others he sired even as she thought she owned his heart. Now—” he let out a breath “—I cannot find it within me to force her to stay here or to stay married against her will.”

“'Tis already accomplished, Orrick. You are married. She must understand that fact?”

“Of course she does. She knows I am completely within my rights as her husband to keep her here, or to lock her away or to punish her in any way I deem needed. She is, as my friend constantly reminds me, a very intelligent person.”

“So, you plan to give her up?”

“Hell, no,” Orrick said, slapping Gavin on the shoulder. “I plan to make her want to stay married to me.”

“You will sink that low?”

“Oh, aye. To whatever I need to keep her here. I know her weaknesses now and will play to them until she surrenders to me.”

“Deception? Intrigue?” Gavin asked, rubbing his hands together and no doubt readying himself for a good battle.

“Nay, Gavin. She's had her fill of that. I will tempt her with honesty, openness and books.”

“Books? Orrick, the lack of a woman's touch and taste has made you daft!”

“Books, my friend. Her education was extensive and I know exactly where there are books rare and special enough to make her hands itch to hold them.”

“Books?” Gavin said, his face screwed up in dis
belief and distaste. “I think my plan of taking her to your bed and pleasuring her until she agrees to stay is a better one. Even beating her into submission would make more sense than tempting her with books. Daft Englishmen and their bedeviled ways!”

“Worry not, friend. There will be time for the pleasuring or beating once I draw her in. Plenty of time.” Orrick laughed and Gavin shook his head.

“You still have too much monk in you, Orrick,” Gavin said poking him on the shoulder. “Far too much time spent learning and not enough time spent tupping or fighting.”

“So my father lamented before his death.”

“If you have nothing pressing right now, we could remedy the fighting part?”

Gavin's appetite for a good fight never waned even in these past few weeks when Orrick had beaten him soundly and consistently. The invitation was a good sign; his fighting partner was ready to face him. With swords or fists, it mattered not for them, so Orrick informed Norwyn of his intentions and they walked out to the yard. He would seek out Marguerite and tell her the plans to travel to Abbeytown after he finished beating the arrogance out of his friend. Too much monk? Not likely…

 

“May I make you known to my wife, Lady Marguerite?”

He felt her hand shaking where it lay on his, but she kept the smile on her face as she curtsied to Godfrey. The abbot took her hand and drew her close.

“Come, my lady. I have some wine I keep just for special visitors. Sit and rest from your journey.”

She looked back to him and then followed Godfrey into his office. She had not asked him, but she probably worried over the same matter as she had when meeting Wilfrid for the first time. The clergy made her nervous. Uncertain if Godfrey planned this to be a private interview or not, Orrick waited at the door and watched her.

Was it a sin to want her so much? He watched as Godfrey drew her into conversation about Silloth and her impressions of the area and he wanted her. When the abbot handed her a goblet of wine and she touched it to her mouth, he ached to hold her. Regardless of his assertions to Gavin, all he thought of was the pleasure they could have if only she would come to him.

“My lord?” Godfrey called out. Orrick had been so deep in lusting for his wife that he'd missed the monk's call. “Please join us.”

Orrick stepped inside and walked to the hearth, just far enough away so that he could watch her face. Some of the nervousness was gone, but she kept looking to him as though his presence protected her.

“Tell me of your journey from Normandy,” Godfrey said. “I was born in the province of Aquitaine, but spent much of my life in Normandy. 'Tis so long since I have been to the land of my birth—” he smiled “—but I will never forget the blessed sunshine and warmth of those lands.” The monk spoke in Norman to her.

“My lord Orrick wishes me to speak in English,
good abbot,” she replied, smiling at him. “I would oblige him if you do not mind?”

When spoken like that, it made him feel mean-spirited. He had meant it to help her gain an ease with the language she would need to speak, not as a punishment.

“Or we could speak Latin and he would not know what we were saying about him?” Godfrey switched to the ancient tongue of Rome, one that had always given him fits when learning to read, write or speak it.

A look of devilment settled on her features, her eyes brighter than they had been in weeks, and she laughed at Godfrey. “Or Greek? I like the sound of Latin, but I am more proficient at Greek.”

He watched as the monk and his wife continued to talk between themselves. Orrick knew that if he asked, she would stop conversing in the old language, but it made his heart glad to see her enjoying something as simple as talking. He'd never seen Marguerite this animated, and a pang of jealousy tore through him. Is this how she was at court? When she was sure of herself and in the center of attention?

He had nothing to compare with but the day of their wedding and he realized that even then Marguerite was different—she was confident that she knew Henry's heart and mind and she gleamed with an icy veneer that nothing could penetrate. Today, there was personality, but without the facade she wore a few months ago.

After a few minutes, Godfrey nodded to him and then stood before Marguerite. “'Tis such a joy to
hear it spoken, my lady. My thanks to you for indulging an old man. And pardon, my lord, for taking so much of your wife's time from you.”

“I do not mind at all, Godfrey. I can see that meeting you has pleased her, as well.”

“I must demand your time now, my lord, for we have much to review from this past month. My lady, because we do not have women religious here in our community, I am sorry to tell you that you will have to restrict your movements and that of your maid to this building, the church and the courtyard between.”

“I understand, Abbot. Lord Orrick, will we stay here tonight or begin our journey back to Silloth?”

“I have a small house outside the walls of the abbey, lady. We will spend the night there before traveling.” He attempted to read something in her eyes or on her face, but it was blank.

“My lady, if you go to the fourth door down this corridor,” Godfrey said, pointing to the left as they reached his door, “tell the brother on duty there that I sent you.”

Orrick fought to keep the smile from his face. He knew what lay behind that door and would love to see her face when she beheld it. She nodded to Godfrey and now he could tell that she thought she went to some room to rest or eat. With Edmee following close behind, Marguerite curtsied to them and left the room.

“Did you tell her?”

“I thought to let her enjoy the surprise.”

“Think you that it will please her?” Godfrey asked in a whisper.

“Oh, aye. If I know anything about her, she will be overwhelmed.”

“Come then, Orrick. Let her take pleasure in the treasures of that chamber and we will complete our business.”

“You forewarned Brother David of her arrival?”

“Aye. Although if she reacts as I suspect she will, David may need help.”

Orrick laughed and followed Godfrey in the other direction. He knew that once she opened the door there, she would not leave willingly.

 

Little specks of dust danced in the air around and over her as she spun around and around in the chamber. Growing dizzy, she thought she'd forgotten to breathe. The monk stood to one side with a knowing grin on his face and she knew that Orrick had planned this.

Shelves lined the room from ceiling to floor and were filled with manuscripts of all sizes and description. Light pierced the darkness through windows at the top of the room and cast fingertiplike sunbeams into the nooks and crannies of the collection.

Marguerite tried to discern titles from the center of the room but she was too far from the books. Taking a few cautious steps closer, she gasped as she realized the treasures within this chamber.

“That cannot be,” she murmured to no one as she recognized books she'd only heard about but had never dreamed she'd see in her lifetime.
The Iliad
in Greek,
The Song of Roland,
many copies of the Bible and other religious manuscripts. As she walked
slowly around the perimeter of the room, she saw books written in the Carolingian language of her ancestors as well as by the famous writers and orators of Rome. Vergil's
Aeneid
was there, and some others in Italian and Latin. Even some eastern languages she was not familiar with. Could that be? A tome by Dioscorides, the great physician and herbalist? The urge to touch them was overpowering.