The King's Mistress (17 page)

“You may have the honor of telling her that, friend. I also told her about the provisions in the contract for her income. I am certain you will want to make arrangements with her for the profits the estates have made.”

Godfrey frowned and then smiled. Orrick worried more about the smile. “I will go and speak to her now.”

 

Brother David replaced the priceless book on the shelf as she watched. The room grew darker as the sun moved toward setting, and candles would be needed to read any longer. Since the monks would be called to prayer and their meager evening meal, Marguerite prepared to leave. She had already sent Edmee out to meet with their party.

“My lady? Might I have a word with you before you leave?” The abbot stood at the door. She nodded and he motioned to the corridor. “Walk with me?”

'Twould be discourteous to refuse his request, and she was curious. She walked at his side back past his office and then farther down the other side of the building.

“Orrick thought that collection might please you.”

“It did, Abbot. I have only heard of such books as the ones you have.”

“There are many that you could borrow for a time. Not the rare ones, but some of those that we have copies of would be available to you.”

“Truly?”

“Lord Orrick's sponsorship supports this abbey and its work. Allowing his wife access to our collection is the least we can do to show our appreciation.”

“Good abbot, if I did not know better, I would say that sounds like bribery.”

“'Tis bribery, my lady. Pure and simple.”

She laughed out loud at his candor. “I suspect you serve as my lord's confessor as well as his friend and mentor.”

“I do, my lady. I must admit, however, that it is such a joyous difference to find a woman who appreciates the written word.” The abbot paused before a door. “You will, I believe, find this interesting, as well.”

He opened the door and Marguerite beheld the largest scriptorium she'd ever seen. Dozens of raised writing tables filled the chamber. Some monks continued to work by the light of precious beeswax candles spread throughout the room. The silence that permeated such a large room with so many people within it amazed her.

“Our brothers supply a number of monasteries and abbeys and churches in the north of England with prayer books and Bibles. And we accept private commissions, as well.”

Her presence at the door did not seem to disturb
the monks and she marveled at their abilities as well as their concentration to the task of reproducing the manuscripts in their collection.

“I would like to donate one-fourth of my income to help fund your work here, Abbot.”

“That would be a generous gift to us, my lady.”

“I would like one-fourth sent to my sister's community, as well.”

“God will bless you for your charity, my lady.”

She turned to face him now for the rest of it. It only seemed right to her that Orrick share in the income that his administration produced. “I would like Lord Orrick to receive one-fourth, as well.”

“He would rather have the benefits of your education and your skills than your gold.”

Marguerite blinked in surprise, shocked by this monk's honesty. “Will the gold compensate him if I cannot give him what he wishes for?”

“My lady, even this old man can see the love you bear for each other and the pride that keeps you from sharing it.”

“Is that what you think? Pride keeps us apart?”

She knew now from whom Orrick had learned his ability to assess others so well. She did not argue his words about love since she had begun to suspect that the feelings she held in her heart for Orrick were love. 'Twas very different from the feelings she bore for Henry though, so she was not certain enough to tell Orrick yet.

The abbot began walking from the chamber and Marguerite followed him. He left the building and stepped into the courtyard. “Lady, I know of your
relationship with the king and I think we both understand that it could not have continued. Although you may have given your heart in good faith, his is known to be fickle and changeable.”

Could she ask this holy man advice? Other religious men had turned her away, insulted and snubbed her. But Godfrey was as different from them as Orrick was from the nobles she knew at court. As if he heard her concerns voiced, he took her hand in his and patted it.

“My lady, my history is unlike most clergy here. I have lived in the secular world and even lived in the holy estate of marriage before taking my vows. There is little you could say that would surprise or shock me. Feel at ease and do not worry that I could not comprehend your troubles.”

Deciding that she did indeed need his insight, she nodded. Her hands trembled and so she held them tightly together. Marguerite hesitated to even think it.

“If I was so very wrong about my love for the king, how do I know if I am making the same mistake again? I mean that I lived in ignorance of Henry's ways and saw only what he showed me.” She had changed in these past few weeks. Once she'd seen Henry's perfidy for what it was, 'twas difficult to trust anyone again. Or consider loving someone else. “How do I know that is not happening all over again?”

“Now that all you know is gone, you must learn anew.”

“But how do I do that?”

“Be pragmatic, lady. Apply what you learned from reading the philosophers and scientists. Accept what you can prove or what can be demonstrated. Examine the evidence before you and decide which path to take.”

“Good brother, that sounds much too rigid to be applied to matters of the heart,” Marguerite argued.

“Do not worry. Lord Orrick's character will withstand any test you perform. But, lady, I ask you not to trifle with him.” The abbot leaned toward her and smiled. “He is a good man and I suspect you would be happy with him. Orrick is much like a son to me, but he would be better off without you if you play him as Henry played you.”

The words were meant to startle her and they did. “I will consider your words, Abbot.”

“'Tis all I ask of you.”

But Marguerite knew it was so much more that he asked than simple reflection on his words. Was she ready to take the next step?

O
rrick's house outside the abbey walls sat next to a small stream in the middle of an orchard. Not big, it consisted of two small bedchambers and one larger room used as both kitchen and hall. A small barn nearby served as stable and a place for his men to sleep. Marguerite and her maid were given one of the chambers and Orrick took the other.

'Twas not the way he wanted it to be, but he had promised Godfrey to give Marguerite time. From the grave expression she wore when they met in the courtyard of the abbey, he wondered if he would live long enough for her to have enough time to make her decision.

Dinner was accomplished quietly for they both seemed caught up in their own thoughts. After making a final check on his men, Orrick sought his bed. The night went on and on and he could not find the solace of sleep. A noise outside his door alerted him to someone moving through the house. Pulling a tu
nic over his head, he slid from the bed and, with sword in hand, he opened the door.

“Marguerite? What are you doing wandering at this time of night?” He lowered his sword and watched as she stood unmoving outside his chamber.

“I would speak to you.”

The shadows in the room played over her face and he could not read any expression there. Stepping back from the door, he bid her to enter. He lit a candle and placed it on the table next to the bed and waited for her to say what she came to say. Standing near the small window, he waited on her.

Her hair was loose, the first time he'd seen it so for a very long time. It flowed over her shoulders and outlined her womanly curves, and the desire within him that lay near the surface threatened to erupt. She wore only a dressing robe over her chemise and bare toes peeked out from under those.

Marguerite started and stopped and started and stopped again. Each time the words came out in a nonsensical mix. Finally she took a deep breath and he knew the time of decision was here.

“I fear giving myself to you, Orrick. Each time I think I have made up my mind, the terror keeps the words from being spoken and my pledge from being made.”

With those words, he wanted to run to her and take her in his arms, but he knew she was not convinced yet that it would work between them. “Do you fear that I will hurt you?”

“Oh, not in a physical way. There have been many times when you could have struck me down for what
I said or did and you did not. Nay, I do not fear you that way.”

He sat on the bed now, thinking he might be less intimidating if he did not tower over her in the small room. “Then pray tell me what you fear.”

“I fear being wrong again, Orrick, and being played the fool.”

“I think you have some idea of the man I am and that you would not be treated that way. I have professed my love to you. Do you think I am capable of such duplicity?”

He almost smiled at her hesitation, and part of him wanted to point out that she felt safe enough with him to think over his question.

“Nay, I think not.” She shook her head. “But I was wrong before.”

“You were with the wrong man,” he said confidently.

“He is the king,” she replied as though that explained why he should behave badly.

“In the matter of your love for him, Marguerite, he was just a man.” She tangled her fingers in the edge of her robe and would not meet his eyes now. “There is something else worrying you. Tell me.” He stood and took her hands in his, rubbing them as he sought to ease her fear.

“I fear you will set me aside,” she said softly. “When you realize that you have gotten the lesser part of the bargain, you will push me away and my life will be destroyed again. I will be destroyed again.”

“I will not. If you give yourself to me, I will pro
tect you and cherish you as my own. I have sworn it once before church and king and I will swear it to you here and now. I will not let you go.”

He would scream it out to anyone listening if she wanted. She nodded as though accepting his word and took her hands from him. Turning away from him, she spoke the words so softly he thought he might be mistaken.

“I would be your wife, Orrick. In all ways.” She slipped the robe from her shoulders and faced him now.

Tremors of desire pierced him at the thought of what she offered. However much he wanted her, and he did want her, she needed to understand the seriousness and completeness of the step they took.

“If you give yourself to me now, Marguerite, there will be no others between us. It will be as though we begin our marriage this night and go forward from here. If you are not willing to make that commitment, do not do this.”

“I have made my choice, Orrick. I will stand by it.”

He held his hand out to her and this time, she did not hesitate in accepting it. Orrick drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She reacted as he'd allowed himself to dream she would, by sliding her hands around him and pulling him even closer. When he could feel every part of her against him, he whispered her name and she looked up at him.

His mouth came down on hers and he gifted her with kisses that took her breath away. She opened to him and he tasted her mouth and her tongue and
kissed every part of her face before coming back to her lips. Marguerite felt the proof of his desire against her belly, and this time it inflamed her own for him.

Everything within her tightened as his mouth moved lower onto her neck and, as he teased her with tender bites on the skin there, she could feel the heat growing between them. The moisture between her thighs increased and she wanted him to fill her emptiness and make them as one. The layers of clothing they wore bothered her now, so she released her grip on him and stepped back to get rid of her chemise.

He smiled at her efforts and helped tug the shift over her head. Then they removed his tunic and each stood naked before the other. The sight of his wide shoulders, narrow waist and hips and long legs enticed her to wickedness. Without moving closer, she placed her hand on his chest and let it slide down, exploring the hard muscles there and on his belly and down farther past his hips to his thighs. His indrawn breath told her of the success of her touch.

Her body reacted, as well, and the urge to press against him grew stronger until she took the step that closed the gap between them. Now it was her chance to gasp as their bodies met and the heat of his embrace melted any hesitation she had. Marguerite felt her breasts swell against him as the hair on his chest teased the sensitive tips.

Gathering her close, Orrick kissed her again and she felt his hand moving down her skin as hers had on him. Shudders of pleasure shook her as he found the wetness between her legs and teased even more
of it from her. Spreading her with his hand, his fingers moved over the slick folds there until her legs trembled and threatened to give out.

He paused and guided her to the side of the bed. When she thought he would pull her onto it, instead he sat on the edge and brought her to stand astride his legs exposing her heat to his touch once more. When she thought she would scream with the pleasure of his caresses, he slid back onto the bed and lifted her into his lap. With her knees around his hips now, she was more accessible to him and he played her body with a fervor that threatened to drive her mad.

Marguerite marveled that he did not demand that she see to his satisfaction first. He gave and gave, stroking and tasting and touching and teasing her until, inflamed beyond her expectations, her peak was upon her. Wave after wave of throbbing pleasure surged through her, moving from inside her core to her skin, making her burn with his every touch.

Just as she thought she was done, he turned her over and filled her emptiness with his hardness. As he plunged into her, she felt the aching grow until another peak and another overwhelmed her. He claimed her then, calling out her name and, after only a few thrusts, marking her with his seed.

She was his now.

It took some time before she could breathe again. He remained within her, not as hard as before, but still there. She clenched the muscles she had there to feel him deep inside and he laughed.

“I feel you, love,” he said in a husky whisper. “Do you wish for more?”

Orrick did not wait for an answer but slipped his hand between their still-joined bodies and touched the engorged bud between her legs. He rubbed it until she could bear no more and screamed out her release again. 'Twas his turn to laugh for he kept his hand there and touched her over and over until her body could respond no more.

As she found herself sinking into the sleep that followed physical satisfaction, she thought it sad that men could reach their release only once when women could enjoy it over and over again.

 

Just as the first rays of the morning sun pierced the darkness, she woke. Her body felt relaxed and complete as it had not in such a long time. This time had been so different than the first time when she had pushed him into taking her body.

This time she had given her love to him, as well.

He had not asked it of her. No words of love were spoken on her part, for she was not certain how to broach such a thing with him. It felt premature somehow to make such a declaration and she did not want him to think her false. So she tried to open herself to him and to accept his body even as she accepted his love.

He rolled over and lay on his back now and she watched him as he slept at her side. His handsome features were even more so when asleep and relaxed. His lips that had given her such pleasure were opened slightly and his hair lay in disarray around
his head. Her hand itched to feel the curly hair on his chest, so she did.

Gently she stroked down, following its path past his waist and onto his belly and then around his manhood. She barely touched him, but that part of him reacted, growing larger and harder in nothing more than a moment or two. Orrick stretched beneath her touch and growled in a masculine voice that tempted her yet again.

“Taunting the beastie, are you, my lady?”

As an answer, Marguerite wrapped her hand around his hardness and caressed it. “Aye, my lord. 'Twould seem that way.”

When he would have pressed her back against the bed, she pushed back and climbed over him. Sitting astride his hips, she brought her hair over her shoulders so that it fell over him as a curtain. Orrick tried to lift her hips to settle her on him, but she decided that this time she would see to his satisfaction.

Sliding back, she leaned closer to his flesh and breathed on it. When it pulsed in her grasp, she laughed. “I feel you, too,” she said. Then she touched the tip of her tongue on the smooth skin and watched him react.

“I think 'tis time to tame the beastie, my lord.”

“If you dare,” he growled as he entangled his hands in her hair and held her there. “Only if you dare.”

She dared.

And lived to tell.

 

No one said a word, but all seemed to know. Marguerite found herself blushing,
blushing,
at his every
glance and every touch. And touch her he did as they broke their fast, as he assisted her from her horse, as they sat waiting in the abbot's office. His hand traced from the line of her shoulder, onto her neck and around to her hairline. She shivered with both the memories of his touch in the night and with the anticipation of what would be in the nights to come.

He had complained this morn when Edmee gathered her hair into a tight roll and hid it beneath a heavy snood and veil. Even as she explained that it was out of respect for the abbot and good brothers that she covered her hair so, he attempted to unravel her maid's work. Now he threatened it once more and she tried to push his hand away. 'Twas only the abbot's arrival that sent him jumping back away from her like a guilty youth.

“'Twould seem that you have reached an accord then?” Brother Godfrey asked as he placed a package on the table and sat down.

Orrick looked to her before answering. She nodded. “Aye, Godfrey, my lady and I are at peace.”

“My heart is glad for you both.” The monk smiled. “You leave to return to Silloth?”

“If that is what I hope, we will leave as soon as my wife sees it,” Orrick said, nodding to the package that Brother Godfrey had brought in with him.

“As you commissioned, Orrick,” the abbot said, handing it to him. “And done just in time, it would seem.”

She could not imagine what was in it, but Orrick now held it out to her. A bubble of excitement filled
her. He had commissioned something for her? If his words were true, she thought she knew the contents. Her hands trembled as she untied the cord around it and opened the layers of waterproof canvas.

It was! It was a Book of Hours, and as she opened it and saw her name inscribed inside, tears filled her eyes.

“I thought this to be a bribe, but now I would be pleased if you would consider this a morning gift.”

“A bribe?” she asked, her voice shaking as she held back the tears. “A morning gift?”

“I asked Godfrey to see to this when I visited here after our wedding. I thought that such a gift might soften your heart to me.”

“It might have,” she offered, laughing and crying at the same time.

The book was exquisite with its illuminations and pages trimmed in gold. Each page contained prayers and a meditation for its owner and this one was personalized with her patron saint's day decorated in gold leaf. Again, his kindness overwhelmed her and the tears fell in earnest.

“Here now,” he said as he offered his sleeve to her to stave off the flow. “It is newly made and the ink will wash away if you cry like that.” His voice was gruff but it did not fool her now.

Trying to regain her control, she asked her other question. “What is a morning gift?”

“'Tis an old custom among the Welsh and others to give a gift to the bride on the morning after the wedding night. The gift's extravagance is the way
the husband proclaims his satisfaction with the marriage.”