The King's Mistress (23 page)

November, in the Year of Our Lord 1179

“M
y lady? Lord Orrick is back,” Edmee said, looking out the window of Margaret's chamber and then back at her. “Should I take the babe with me?” The maid frowned.

Margaret looked at her son asleep in the cradle and smiled. He could sleep through almost any noise, but after Orrick's absence of more than two weeks from Silloth, she could only imagine what might happen. She had still not explained the damage to the door that used to hang between their rooms.

“Aye, Edmee. Take him to Lady Constance and apologize for my absence from the solar.” Her mother-by-marriage was visiting from her dowager estate in Ravenglass.

The maid gathered up the babe and nearly ran from the room in her haste to avoid Orrick on his return. Apparently the sight of a naked and aroused lord of Silloth on his return the last time was some
thing Edmee did not want to see again. Orrick had caught them unaware and did not realize that the young woman was tending to the babe in Margaret's room. It may have been the same time the door was knocked from its hinges, but Margaret did not want to think on that now.

There was no time.

She loosened her laces with a speed she'd developed over these past months. Tugging the gowns over her head, she slipped off the soft leather shoes and rolled down her stockings as she sat on the bed. She heard his shouting as he climbed the steps to their chambers. Her body was already shivering in readiness as she pulled the wimple and barbette from her head and climbed into the bed in her room.

'Twas safer to meet him like this than standing.

“Go away!” he shouted at the fools who must have followed him, expecting his attention. She cringed at the volume of his voice. The door slammed and she waited.

“Wife?” he whispered as he entered her room. “I want you now.” His head and hair dripped of water. He'd washed on his way, probably dunking his head in a bucket on his way through the yard. His innate consideration had warred with expediency and lost in this instance.

Her breasts ached for his touch, and the core of heat inside her grew with his every step closer. The smile on his handsome face was wicked and he licked his lips as he reached the end of her bed. Faster than even she, he removed his tunic and used the undergown to remove some of the dripping water
from his head. Then, still wearing only his stockings tied to the belt that held them up, he reached down and pulled the sheet off of her.

Without moving his gaze from hers, he began to crawl up her body. His tongue and teeth and lips teased her heated flesh and by the time he reached her mouth, she was begging. She opened her body to him and in one movement of his hips, he entered and filled her.

“Home,” she heard him sigh as they fell over the edge of pleasure together. When they could breathe again, he rolled off of her, taking her with him and holding her close.

“Welcome, my lord,” she said, laughing.

“My thanks for such a warm welcome, my lady. How do you fare?”

He said the same thing each time he arrived home. And in the same order, for they never had time for words until after he claimed her body again. And she had no objections to that.

“I am well, as is your son.”

Orrick raised his head and looked at the empty cradle. “Edmee took him?” She could only nod and laugh again. “I tried to apologize, Margaret. Truly.”

“Mayhap if you were clothed when you attempted it, Edmee might have accepted it?”

“'Tis Gavin's fault. He was the one that told me to tup you into submission.” Orrick sat and pushed back to the headboard of the bed. “Speaking of him, I received a letter from him. Let me get it from my sack.” He climbed from the bed and went back into his chambers.

Margaret pushed her hair out of her face and covered herself with a sheet. Orrick came back and sat next to her. He rummaged through the bag and found the letter. She opened it and read it, laughing at Gavin's description of his wedding night and his bride.

“Serves him right!” she exclaimed. “I am glad that his bride is no mealy-mouthed girl, but one who can handle him.”

On their return to Silloth from Carlisle last year, she and Gavin had forged a friendship of sorts. That did not keep her from wishing a marriage for him or rejoicing when he was summoned back to his family for that wedding. His bride's name was Nessa and she was leading Gavin on a merry chase.

“I know this is late to mark the anniversary of your birth, but I hope you like it. I think it suits you.”

He held out a small leather case and her hands trembled as she opened it to find a necklace of small stones and gold beads. It was perfect, the colors were her favorites and not so large that she would fear wearing it as she did with her mother's necklace.

“My thanks for this. I will cherish it.”

“Ah, but that is not the real gift. This is.” He held out a bigger package, one wrapped in waterproof canvas.

Tears filled her eyes for she knew what this one was. When she had declared her intention of being his good English wife and adopting the English version of her name, he had promised something special to mark the occasion and her choice. Unwrapping it
revealed a new Book of Hours with her name, Lady Margaret of Silloth, embossed on the first page. But the words below her name were the ones that made her cry—Beloved Wife of Orrick.

“Here now, you are supposed to be happy. If you cry each time I bring you something home, I will have to stop.”

Orrick held out the edge of the sheet to her and she dried her tears. He took the book and placed it on the carved reading table he'd had made for it. Opening the leather box, he lifted the necklace out and laid it around her neck. She held up her hair so he could fasten it in place. When he leaned back and looked on her with such love, she cried all over again.

“I have nothing to give you when you are so generous,” she said, touching the stones of the necklace that now warmed on her skin.

“Not true. You have given me a son. A most splendid one at that,” he said with fatherly pride. “Which reminds me…” He turned the bag upside down until another parchment fell out. “We have spoken of her, but I have news for you.”

“Genevieve?” Margaret asked. Her daughter by the king was a year older than her son and she had not seen her since the day of her birth. There was no possibility of raising her so she remained with Margaret's sister at the convent where Dominique served God.

“Godfrey tells me that a new Gilbertine convent has opened to the east of Carlisle and that Dominique
has been appointed as the assistant to the reverend mother there.”

“But she is so young!”

“Apparently she has the support of someone important enough to influence those who make the decisions.”

Henry. The king was somehow behind this.

“And they have a lay community there, as well, just as their other convents.”

She looked at him, trying to figure out his message. The importance of his words struck her. “Genevieve is there?”

“Aye, she is there now.”

“Could I…?” She could not get the words out. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned once more with tears. “Would you allow me to…?”

“As a kind and God-fearing husband, I would see no reason against a yearly or so retreat to the convent there. So long as you promise to say a prayer for my wicked soul.”

“Wicked soul, my lord? I think not.” She wiped her eyes again and looked at him, hoping he could see in her gaze the love she felt for him.

“If you had any idea of the impious thoughts going through my mind in spite of this talk of convents and prayers, you would be praying for my soul.”

“Or just praying that you—” She pulled him to her and whispered in his ear all her wicked thoughts. He lifted the sheet and settled on top of her as she continued to describe all the things she'd missed while he was away. And she poured her love into him even as he poured himself into her.

The lord and his lady were heard but not seen until two days hence by those living in Silloth Keep.

And all was well in Silloth.