The King's Mistress (19 page)

The messenger reached inside his pouch and took out several packages. Handing a thin one to Marguerite, he held out two more to Orrick. Waves of nausea passed over him as he accepted the parchments that he knew would change his life. Uncertainty of how it would change made his hand shake in spite of his best efforts not to show his discomfort.

“The king wishes Lord Orrick to attend him?” Marguerite looked from the letter she held back to the man.

“My lady, the king specifically requests your presence and sends this as a token of his esteem.”

Orrick would always remember praying that she would not take the box the messenger lifted from his pouch. He prayed with all his might that she would not reach out. That she would not accept the gift and what it meant to them. He swore his heart seized when a smile broke out on her face and she held out her hand.

“The king wants me to attend him?”

The joy in her eyes nearly struck him down. He heard nothing else said in the chamber for her words had destroyed everything he had hoped for these past months. She still loved the king.

Still clutching his messages, he stood and pushed
past both of them. In the corridor he called out to Norwyn to see to their needs. He could not breathe. He could not bear to look on her. Giving the parchments to his steward, Orrick only knew he needed to be away from here, away from her.

S
he waited for two days to explain, but he avoided her. 'Twas like in the days when she first arrived—she could hear the disapproval in the voices of the people of Silloth and see and feel it in the hard stares that followed her every step.

Orrick did not return to his chambers and, for the first time since giving herself to him, she slept alone. If truth be told, sleep did not enter into it, for all she did was toss and turn through the long, dark nights. All she could see when she closed her eyes was the stricken expression in his eyes as she'd reached out to the messenger.

Over and over, the scene repeated itself until she wanted to cry. And she did. But none of this would end unless she could explain to Orrick what had happened in that chamber.

A summons from the king was a command and not a request, and Marguerite knew preparations must be made if they were to arrive in Carlisle in time. On the third day, she decided to begin those
arrangements. When Norwyn answered her orders with a benign sort of ignorance, she went to the only person in the keep who could do anything. She sought out Lady Constance.

She found Orrick's mother in her chambers. From the expression the lady wore when she realized who knocked at her door, Marguerite was not certain she would allow her entrance.

“My lady, please,” she said, pushing against the door. “I must speak to you.”

Once in the room, she waited for Lady Constance to excuse her servants before saying anything more. When they were the only ones left, she faced the older woman.

“You know that the king has summoned us to Carlisle.” Every living person in Silloth knew about it. Nothing ever stayed a secret within this keep or village. Marguerite held out the letter she'd received from Henry.

Lady Constance said nothing as she took the letter and read it. “This is not what I expected.”

“What do you mean? 'Tis simply a letter requiring my presence on Sunday next. I assume Orrick's letter was the same.” Orrick's mother did not respond. Then Marguerite remembered that he received a thin and a thick packet from the courier.

“Lady, he must attend the king! If he refuses without good reasons, the king's reaction will be terrible to behold. I have seen this before and Orrick must realize he has—we have—no choice in this matter.”

“My son must have his own reasons for ignoring the king's call,” Lady Constance said quietly, but
her voice betrayed her lack of faith in her own answer.

Marguerite moved closer and touched her hand. “Please, lady, speak to your son since he will not speak to me. Make him understand….”

“I believe he understands more than you think.”

She gasped as she realized what the woman meant, what Orrick suspected. “The king summoned both of us.”

“The gift was only for you.”

“And I will give it back to him when I see him. I want nothing from the king. Surely Orrick knows this.”

Lady Constance did not answer, which made it too clear to Marguerite. They all believed that the king wanted her back. And, for one brief instant, when the messenger said his words, she had believed it, as well.

Apparently the difference was that, in spite of his call and his gift, she knew she did not want the king back. Orrick's lack of faith in her cut her to her core, but there was no time to waste feeling sorry for herself.

“I must speak to him. Please tell me where he is.” She grabbed his mother's hand and begged. “Please.”

“Why should I take your side in this? All you have done is bring sadness and shame to my son's heart and to his honor.”

The words stabbed at Marguerite's heart and she could only imagine what Orrick thought if his mother dared to voice these.

“Henry will not tolerate being disobeyed. He will destroy Orrick and the people of Silloth and all of your lands will suffer for my lord's disobedience.” She knelt before the older woman. “I know the king. We must answer this summons,” she said, pointing at the letter. “And if I must give myself to him once again to save Orrick and his people, it is a price I am willing to pay.”

Lady Constance paled and Marguerite climbed to her feet. “The preparations must be made and I will go alone if he will not. Norwyn will not obey my word. If you love your son as I do, you must make him cooperate with me.”

The older woman trembled and Marguerite decided she must find Orrick without her. Picking up the letter from where it fell, she turned and walked to the door.

“I will speak to him.”

Marguerite nodded and left without another word.

By the time the people ate their evening meal, baggage was packed, horses and supplies allocated and men assigned to escort her to Carlisle. The journey would take nigh to a week, first through Abbeytown then onto Thursby and to Carlisle. She had still not seen or heard Orrick, but his mother must have been successful in convincing him.

Unwilling to face the hostility in the hall, she had a tray delivered to her. She tried to settle her spirits by reading, but even the beautiful book taunted her in her unhappiness. She hoped she would not have to pay the price she'd named to Orrick's mother, but as she examined her conscience she knew she would
be willing to do it to save Orrick from the king's wrath.

And then what? Where would she go? Orrick would never take her back. The king would only do this to punish her for loving someone else. As she had warned Orrick, her life would be destroyed. Even her now loyal servant Edmee had deserted her by accepting Orrick's offer of a place to live.

Marguerite did not know what drew her attention to the window, but she would have recognized his form anywhere. Orrick stood below in the yard speaking to some of his men. As she pressed her face against the expensive glass and whispered his name, he looked up as though he had heard her. Their gazes met for several moments until he turned away and finished talking to the guards. Without looking back, he climbed onto his horse and rode through the gate and headed into the village.

He went to Ardys.

Shaking, she slid down onto the cushions. She knew that she owed him an explanation for her reaction to the messenger's words, but he was not blameless. If he trusted her and loved her as he professed to, he would have waited for that accounting of her actions before throwing her aside and seeking the arms of another.

In the moments just before despair and hopelessness took control, she felt the anger of the old Marguerite growing within her. It strengthened her resolve that Orrick would hear her before throwing away the precious gift she had given him.

Damn him! Why did he now act like all other men
when she needed the differences she'd grown accustomed to in him? His lack of faith was not what she would have expected from him and he should answer for it.

Tossing her cloak over her shoulders, she left her chambers and the keep determined to follow him and confront him. She had never considered that the guards would bar her way.

“Move aside,” she demanded as three guards stood between her and the gate.

“My lady, we cannot do that,” the tallest one said. “Without Lord Orrick's expressed consent, no one leaves the keep at night.”

“I am your lady and I order you to stand aside.”

“Lady, they cannot do that.”

She whirled around to face the Scot. He towered over her but she held her ground. “I will leave, Gavin.”

At the stalemate, she decided on the direct approach and simply ran at the guards, hoping to push her way through. With little effort, they pushed back and she stumbled to the ground. 'Twas the Scot who lifted her to her feet.

“My lady, please do not force us to restrain you,” the shorter one pleaded.

“They carry out the orders of their lord and if you force them to hurt you, they will also bear his wrath. Go back to your chambers, lady.”

She turned to him and grabbed at his tunic, bringing his face down nearer to hers. “I must speak to Orrick. I know where he is and I would go there now.”

“Are you certain of that? Do you want to see what you fear to find?”

“Do you defend his inconstancy? You would—you are his friend in every way.”

The Scot's face hardened and she feared she might have overstepped his control. Even the guards gasped at his glare and they probably thanked the Almighty it was directed at her and not themselves. “I am not with him, am I? Mayhap I do not approve?”

“Then tell them to let me go. I would have my last say before I leave in the morning. I deserve at least that.” He looked as though he might agree. “You can console yourself with the knowledge that, after the morrow, I will be gone and all will be as they were before I came here.”

He took in a swift breath. “Gone?”

“We both know that Orrick will never take me back if I answer the king's call. And, Gavin, I think you know that I must. So, tell them to let me pass.”

The Scot took another deep breath in and let it out. Looking over her head to the guards, he nodded. “Let the lady pass.”

They stepped aside now at his assurance and she ran through the gate, down the hill and onto the path she knew led to Ardys's cottage. The light of the three-quarters moon lit her steps and in a few minutes she stood before the door. The window's shutters were closed against the cool night air and wisps of smoke floated out of the roof.

Marguerite stood there for some minutes, unable to take the next step. So many things needed to be said. So many things needed to be answered for. So
much needed to be explained. She reached for the knob and pushed it open.

Do you want to see what you fear to find?

Gavin's words came to her as she saw the woman Ardys wrapped in her husband's arms. Orrick kissed her over and over and his hands moved over the woman's well-endowed body even as they had on her own. Trying to convince herself that he did it simply to show her that he could, did not ease the pain and shock of it. He raised his head and met her gaze with passion-filled eyes.

Passion felt for another and not for her.

Feeling her world crashing down around her, Marguerite staggered away from the cottage. Looking around, she realized she had nowhere to go.

 

“You are more mean-spirited than I ever thought possible, Orrick.” Ardys pushed him away. “Did you not see how much you hurt her?”

Orrick stepped away from Ardys and closed the door of her cottage. He did not know where Marguerite went and did not care.

He did not care.

Those words might not be true yet, but he would put all his efforts into believing them until they were. He walked to the table and drank deeply from a cup of ale there.

“You must seek her out, Orrick, and speak with her. Tell her this was all a false display. The lady loves you,” Ardys said, taking his arm and tugging until he faced her. “She loves you.”

“Apparently that is not enough for her to refuse
the king's advances. If you had seen the look of joy on her face at the news of her return to him, you would not being taking her side in this.”

The slap to his head surprised him. Ardys had the strong swing of a practiced man and he stumbled back.

“I thought you different. Now you are being stupid and I cannot abide stupidity.”

“Mayhap I need to remind you that striking your lord is a punishable offense?” He did not like that she used their comfortable, easy relationship to attack him now.

She walked away. “Only if he is not being stupid and does not deserve it. If he is not acting responsibly, then it is up to those of us who can to do what we must to remind him.”

He laughed at that. Saluting her with his now-empty cup, he laughed again. She had a quick mind and a quick wit…and a quick hand. But that did not change his mind or his heart in this.

“If she loves me as you say,” he began. Ardys cursed under her breath, but he continued. “
If
she does, why is that not enough to keep her at my side and out of the king's bed?”

“Have you asked that of her, Orrick?”

He had not. When faced with her reaction to the king's call, he had walked away. The joyful look on her face and the smile she had reserved for him alone spoke louder than any words she could say. Marguerite wanted to go back to Henry.

The cup was ripped from his hand, his cloak thrown in his face and he was pushed bodily out the
door. Ardys stood with her hands on her hips glaring at him.

“Mayhap,
my lord,
when you begin thinking with your head and not your cock, the answer may come to you. Do not return here while there is still turmoil between you and the lady.”

Orrick stood outside Ardys's cottage and stared at the door, now shut in his face. She should not dare to speak to him like that. She should fear his wrath.

He left his horse tied at the side of her house and walked up the path toward the keep. He would have to speak to Marguerite before she left. His mother had pleaded her case. Ardys had pleaded her case. But neither of them had seen Marguerite's own words against him.

The king had sent back to him the letters written by her in those first months and, in spite of knowing her condition at that time, the words tore him apart. The lies she had written about him were the worst and they grew darker with each letter. None of them would defend her if they knew how she had really felt about him and about them. By the time he reached the keep, his righteous anger surrounded him and he was ready to face Marguerite with her sins.