Kitabı oku: «The King's Mistress», sayfa 3

“Mayhap she has a bit of pluck after all, Orrick,” Gavin said as he handed the lady over to him. “She’ll do.”

“You misbegotten cur of a—” Orrick began in a furious whisper.

“Hold your tongue, friend. I wanted only to welcome your wife to your home.”

“Damn you, Gavin. If that had been your intent, you would not have caused this fiasco in front of the entire village.”

Wasting no more time berating his friend, Orrick climbed the steps into the keep, calling out for his wife’s maid to follow and giving his own instructions as he went. By the time he’d reached the room adjoining his own, servants followed, bringing hot water, the lady’s trunks and food and drink. Orrick laid her on the bed and stepped back so that her maid could attend her.

Exhaustion of body, mind and spirit was overtaking him, as well. Now that they were home, this could all be sorted out. Obstacles that seemed so large on the road would be conquerable now. Orrick turned, deciding that everyone needed some time to rest and refresh themselves.

His steward and his mother waited in the corridor outside the chamber and neither looked pleased. He would hear his mother’s concern first then deal with his steward.

Leaning toward her, he asked her quietly, “What is it, Mother?”

Her answer, in a like tone, could have been shouted at him for the force it carried. “Is she carrying the king’s bastard?”

Orrick reeled back as though struck and he turned back to see Marguerite still prostrate and unmoving on the bed. ’Twas one scenario he had not thought of. Leave it to his mother to come up with it. Well, the truth of her condition would be known with her first menses or with its absence, so he may as well ask his mother now.

“Did she bleed on the trip here?” Orrick rubbed his forehead against the growing pain there. His mother’s tight-lipped grimace gave her answer. “I suppose that we must wait to discover that, then.”

His mother began to turn away, but with a hand on her arm, Orrick stopped her. Looking at one then the other, he commanded, “Say nothing of that suspicion to anyone here. If word gets out that she is breeding, I will know from whence it came.”

He released Lady Constance’s hand and held her gaze, waiting for her acceptance of his order. When she nodded, he added, “I suspect that the long journey has simply exhausted all of us and, with some good food and rest, we will all regain our senses.”

Both his mother and Norwyn, his steward, nodded again and began to leave, but there was one more thing he needed first.

“Lady Marguerite’s maid speaks no English. Can you find someone to help her? Her name is Edmee.”

“Doesn’t Marguerite speak it?” his mother asked.

“I fear I did not ask her that question when last we spoke. ’Twas not a concern of mine then. Now I suspect that it is not in Marguerite’s temperament to teach her servant even if she knows the language.”

“None of my ladies will play servant to a servant, Orrick. You must know that.”

The pounding between his ears increased and he was certain that his jaw would lock in the clenched position in which he held it for so long. His control was at an end, and just as he took a breath and prepared to let his displeasure show, Gerard spoke from the shadows.

“My lord, I could teach the maid.”

Orrick thought on this offer and realized that it was the only way, at least for now. “Fine, Gerard. Show her what she needs to know about the keep and teach her some of our words. Norwyn, she will need additional help, as well. Assign—”

Norwyn waved his hand at Orrick. “Already done, my lord. The chambers were made ready and servants were assigned to see to the rooms and to the lady.”

“Fine, then. I need—”

“In your chambers, my lord. Wine and food for you,” Norwyn answered. “Hot water for a bath is on the boil and will be ready shortly. And when you are ready, we can review my notes and your orders about the estate.”

He could not fault Norwyn for his thoroughness. The man had learned at his father’s knee about the duties of being steward and, although still new to the position here, Orrick had found him to be more than competent and resourceful in managing the keep, village and lands of Silloth. Surely the man could hold things together for a short while longer while Orrick bathed and ate.

Back in his chambers, after removing his mail, peeling the sweaty tunic and stockings from his body and sinking into the steaming bath that awaited him, Orrick waved away his servants. As he slid into the soothing heat, he wondered if anything about this marriage would ever work.

Chapter Five

Her eyes would not open.

Marguerite had tried for some unknown amount of time to force them, but her body would simply not follow her mind’s commands. Since every bone and muscle and place on her body ached with unrelenting pain, she simply decided that it was not yet time to awaken. The warmth of the chamber and the softness of the mattress upon which she lay pulled her back into sleep’s embrace.

The noises of a large group of people wakened her and this time she was able to open her eyes and sit up. Pushing her matted hair out of her face and stretching to remove the painful tightness in her back and legs, Marguerite looked around the large room and realized where she was.

Inside the black tower of Silloth Keep. This would be her prison for the rest of her life.

She slid from the bed and crossed the room to reach the one window in it. A seat with a thick cushion had been fashioned from the alcove surrounding the window and Marguerite sat down there, exhausted from just the few steps she’d taken to reach it. Examining the carvings that decorated the walls next to the window, Marguerite knew that this would be a pleasant place when the sun shone through the window and warmed it.

The walls are ten feet thick in the keep and it is one of very few stone-walled castles in northern England.

She heard Orrick’s voice as he told her of his home. All she could think of when she saw it for the first time was that it was once of the darkest and most primitive buildings she’d ever seen. With its square shape and unmarked towers, it looked sinister against the sky behind it.

It was built of stone to withstand the power of the sea over which it stands and the winds that buffet it constantly. A wooden keep could never survive the forces here on the cliff.

Thinking on his words, she leaned closer to the glass to try to see out, but the darkness outside thwarted her efforts. She would need to wait until morning before she would see the extent of her prison. Tears gathered in her eyes and soon streamed down her face.

Why had Henry done this to her? She had pledged her love to him. She had promised to obey his every command. She had given herself, body, heart and soul, to him. She had even acknowledged her sin of overstepping her place with her demands. And still, Henry had not relented in this.

Now, she was married to this northern lord and taken as far from Henry as she could be in his vast kingdom. What was to become of her now? Out of favor and out of the king’s sight, she would be forgotten in the wilds of England and never regain her place in the king’s household and court. And some newer, younger, richer, more beautiful woman would take her place in Henry’s life and in his bed.

The sobs grew within her and finally, unable to hold them in, she let them out. Sliding onto the floor, she laid her face against the cushion and cried out her sorrow and fears. And when the tears no longer flowed and she was even more exhausted from giving in to the emotions, she fell asleep as she sat.

The noises that woke her next were those of servants moving around the chamber. Marguerite opened her eyes this time to find the strong early-morning sun streaming in through the window and shining on everything in the room. And without remembering how she had accomplished it, she was back in her bed, covered by several blankets. Trunks filled with her clothes lay scattered around the chamber and two young girls worked under Edmee’s guidance in emptying them and putting her garments in the large wooden chest. Even though she watched silently, her maid noticed her.

“My lady. You are awake! Have we been too loud in our work? Your lord husband thought it might give you some measure of comfort to have all your belongings settled when you woke.”

“Is that what he thought?” she asked. It was exactly what was being done—her clothes were put away and her looking glass, her brushes and hair combs were all neatly arranged on a small dressing table next to the window. She wasn’t certain how she felt about it.

“I beg your pardon for not being here when you awoke last eve, but your lord husband ordered me to go the main hall and eat.”

Edmee continued to explain her absence, but all Marguerite could do was wonder how she had gotten back to the bed from the window seat. She looked at the two girls who went about their tasks without acknowledging the conversation. They did not understand their language!

“Edmee, do they not speak Norman?”

She watched as the two exchanged a few furtive whispers, but gave no sign of knowing that they were the subject of her questions. But before her maid could answer her, a knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened and servants entered carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water. With a method that spoke of efficiency, a bath was poured for her, platters of food placed on the table and those who had brought everything were gone without a word. Marguerite blinked several times, almost not believing that it had occurred at all.

The sight of Orrick in the doorway told her she had not dreamed it.

“My lady, allow me to welcome you to my home,” he said with a bow. He spoke English, which she refused to acknowledge. Not willing to lose all that she was, she gave him a blank look and waited.

“I had hoped, when I heard that you were gifted with the ability to speak and read several languages, that one of them might be English,” he said now in the Norman dialect of her homeland.

She gave a quick warning glance to Edmee so that her servant would not reveal her knowledge and then answered him.

“No, my lord. I speak my Norman dialect as well as langue d’oil and langue d’oc, Latin and some Greek and Italian. But I do not speak English. I am fluent in those tongues used on the continent, where I expected to live.” She aimed her words at him and his pride, hoping to remind him of how much this place was not a desirable location in the Plantagenet world.

If her sting was successful, she knew not, for he simply nodded and waved the servants out. Edmee hesitated for a moment but at Orrick’s dark expression, she curtsied and left with the others. Then he closed the door.

“My lady,” he began as he approached her, “with your obvious gift for spoken languages, I would ask that you learn the one that is mine and my people’s. As their lady, you will need to converse with them.”

“I will not be here long enough to worry about such a thing,” she blurted out. There was a part of her that still believed that Henry was simply drawing out the lesson he taught her and that he had not abandoned her at all.

Lord Orrick stalked her across the room and towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head if she wished to look into his eyes. She did not, so she lowered her chin and turned her head away. All it took on his part was two fingers under her chin and she faced him in spite of her decision not to. He was as strong as he looked, and fighting him would simply leave her bruised, something she did not wish to experience.

“I had hoped that when you awoke from your melancholy state and, after you regained your strength from the long ordeal of journeying almost the length of England to get here, you would realize the folly of your belief. Be clear on this matter—Henry has rid himself of you. He has graciously, as only kings can do, taken his problem and made it my own.”

He could not have hurt her more if he had delivered the blow with his hand instead of his words. He understood her deepest fear and her deepest desire and used it against her. Marguerite willed the tears not to gather again, but her efforts were unsuccessful. All she could do was look away from his gaze.

He released her and stepped back. She dared a glance at him now that there was some distance between them. Although his voice had softened with his horrible words, his face and eyes had hardened.

“Marguerite, there is much we will need to work out between us, but there will be time for that. For now, refresh yourself and rest.” He pointed to the tub and the food. “Join me at the evening meal in the hall and I will present you to your people.”

He did not wait for a response from her, which was probably a smart thing on his part. So many thoughts, so many replies were racing through her mind that she could not have chosen only one as an answer to his request.

Marguerite knew only she did not want to be here. She did not want to be married to Orrick. She wanted to return to the court and seek to repair the damage done between her and the king. But for now, she must bide her time and plan an escape from this unbearable place and marriage.

Orrick pulled open the door and called to her servants to assist her. As they hurried into the room to do her bidding, she caught Orrick’s gaze for a moment. The pity she saw there struck at her and she resolved to remove it. Any other emotion was acceptable—anger, disappointment, even hatred. But not pity.

Suddenly exhausted from the exchange of words with Orrick, Marguerite allowed Edmee to take control and soon found herself sinking into the first hot bath she’d taken since the day of her…the day she left Woodstock and the king.

“Is the lady coming to break her fast here?” Gavin asked as Orrick made his way to his chair at the long table. His foster brother was enjoying his discomfort much too much for Orrick’s liking.

“She is not,” he answered as he sat down. “The lady is still exhausted from the journey. She will join us for the evening meal.”

Gavin laughed heartily and Orrick fought the urge to wipe the smile from his face with his fist. Waiting until the servant filled his cup and moved away, Orrick held his tongue.

“’Tis partly your fault for scaring her to death in the yard.” He said it, but he knew it for the lie it was as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Did you tell her you were leaving on the morrow?”

“Nay.”

“What did you tell her? Did you ask for the truth?” Gavin lowered his voice. “Is she breeding your king’s bairn?”

“I did not ask her.” Orrick busied himself choosing a chunk of bread and another of cheese.

“What did you say, then? You must get to the truth and soon.”

Gavin meant well; he knew that. But the doubts that had plagued him before his marriage plagued him more now, and being questioned over this was not to his liking.

“We had a brief conversation which consisted of the lady offering insult after insult and me trying to ignore and rationalize them.”

“I will tell you what she needs. The lady needs to be reminded of her dishonor. The lady needs to remember why she is here at all. The lady—”

“Will learn all those things in good time, friend.” Orrick clapped Gavin on the back. “There is no need to crush her into the ground on her first day, is there?”

Gavin did not look certain, as though part of him thought that grinding her resistance down quickly was the best way. But his friend was not cruel at heart and he knew Gavin would support him in anything he did, even taming his wife’s unruly spirit. Before turning the conversation back to his impending visit to the abbey, Orrick drank deeply of his ale.

“I should be no longer than two days at the abbey.”

“That long?”

“The journey to Woodstock and back took more time than I expected and there will much to catch up on with Godfrey. Would you accompany me?”

“Are you taking Norwyn?”

“Nay, he will stay here.”

“Then so will I,” Gavin replied. “After all, I am a hostage here.”

“And when did your status as hostage ever prevent you from coming with me?” Orrick noticed the gleam in his friend’s eyes and realized his aim. “I do not want her abused, Gavin. Not by my mother and not by you.”

Gavin began to sputter a reply, but Orrick stopped him. “She answers to me and to no one else. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Orrick. I do.”

“Marguerite is on her own for the first time in her life, with no one to protect her by name or position. She is testing to discover my limits. You know better than anyone that I have them, and so will my wife.”

Gavin nodded and the meal was finished in silence. There was much Orrick needed to do before he could leave again, and at least one conversation with his wife that he would rather not have. But as lord of these lands, ’twas his responsibility to carry out his duties, no matter his personal wants or needs. And his oversight of the abbey’s lands and lucrative salt lathes was part of that and could not be avoided or ignored.

Orrick stood and took leave of Gavin who was busy flirting with one of the servants. He’d postponed his meeting with Norwyn last evening and now needed to review the records here and give instructions for his absence for the trip to Abbeytown.

All through the day, as he met with his steward, the captain of his soldiers, and discussed the coming harvest with those who oversaw his farmlands to the south, his mind drifted back to the woman in the keep. Drawn by the vulnerability of her soft crying, he had watched her as she sobbed out her sadness. With the door between their rooms opened but a crack, he waited until she fell asleep and then carried her to her bed.

Although he had had his share of women, he was not experienced in the ways of love. He’d search his mind for words to say to her to make her understand Henry’s actions, but there were none. She was obviously so much in love with the king that she could not comprehend that his heart, if it ever were involved, had changed toward her. His plans for her certainly had and Orrick understood all too clearly his selection as her bridegroom—good bloodlines, loyal and far enough away to keep her out of the king’s sight and way.

Until she accepted that this was not a temporary stay, but her home, there would be no peace between them. Any hopes that Orrick had for a happy marriage depended on her giving up her hopes of the king calling her back to him. Lady Marguerite was not about to do that. Not now, and probably not for a long time.

He may not know love, but he knew the ways of the Plantagenets. Orrick’s father had watched them before him and, although he had no wish to be involved in the intrigues of the court, he knew them nonetheless. The king was a decisive leader, and once Henry had made the decision to give her in marriage, she was gone from his thoughts and certainly from his heart.

Now, all that had to happen was for her to learn that hard lesson. Tonight’s dinner would be the start of it.

Chapter Six

Pride filled his heart as he surveyed the hall. His people had put forth their best efforts in trying to impress their new lady. The rushes on the floor were new and freshly scented with herbs. The tables had been scrubbed clean and everyone present seemed a bit cleaner and shinier to him, as though they had all washed and dressed in their best. Even Gavin had shaved and looked more like an English nobleman than a Scots warrior-chief.

Now, they waited for Marguerite to arrive. She was late for the announced meal time, but Orrick was willing to give her a few minutes. He was drinking his second goblet of wine when she entered.

The wait had been worth it.

No longer the road-weary traveler, Marguerite had chosen a rose-colored gown that complemented her complexion. Now restored by a night and day of rest, she walked confidently to the dais and then up the steps until she stood before him. Her beauty nearly made him jump over the table to reach her instead of walking around it. Gavin must have known the impulses surging through him or seen the lust he knew must be clear on his face, for his friend cleared his throat loudly and Orrick understood the message.

Control.

Dignity.

Hell!

Orrick strode quickly around to her and held his breath as she lowered into a curtsy before him, as a dutiful wife would before her lord husband. He took her hand and helped her rise, still surprised by her behavior. He had expected some sulking and unpleasantness. Instead the perfect woman presented herself to him and his people.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, watching her eyes to see her reaction. Marguerite startled, but not enough that anyone but he could see it. As she moved to stand at his side, he entwined his fingers with hers and held on to her hand. He turned to the others.

“I thank you for your efforts in making this meal and this occasion a special one. Now, I ask you to make welcome my…wife, the Lady Marguerite of Alencon.” His voice broke slightly as he referred to her as wife for the first time before his people. Some of his servants had been with his family since before his birth and he felt a nervousness not known before as he tried to impress them.

Marguerite’s gaze met his and he saw the puzzlement there. Then he realized he had spoken in English and she probably had not understood a word of it except her name.

“My lady, I thanked them for making your first meal in our hall a special one. They have worked hard to make your welcome a good one,” he said in Norman. Continuing once more in English for his people, he said, “My lady does not speak our language, at least not yet, and so I ask you for your assistance in making her welcome.”

His throat tightened as the clapping began in the back of the hall and spread forward, getting louder as it did so. Some called out her name and some called out “Huzzah.” He smiled as he looked at her.

Marguerite lowered her head in an acknowledgment of their welcome and then returned his smile. Leading her to their seats, he was surprised again when she stopped near his mother and curtsied to her, as well. This sign of respect was not missed and the crowd cheered again. Marguerite hesitated only a moment when she caught sight of Gavin, and then she continued toward the center chairs.

Finally, they were seated and, with his wave, the servants first approached with a bowl of water for washing their hands. Then they surrounded the table to place platters of fish and fowl and beef and mutton before them. Warm loaves of white flour bread and tubs of freshly churned butter were delivered to the table, as well. Cabbage and peas, stewed with mustard seed and pepper, and boiled turnips completed this course. Orrick nodded and everyone began to serve themselves, each two sharing a trencher between them. Because of the occasion, Orrick had ordered that the silver platters he owned be used as well as the silver spoons for those at his table.

The meal commenced and he spent his time offering Marguerite the choicest of the foods placed before them. She smiled and accepted them with a grace he had not seen before. Conversations swirled around them and he translated for her. Soon, the main dishes were removed and the cook delivered some treats that he had prepared especially for this meal. A warm tart of apples and pears filled the air with the smell of cloves and cinnamon as it was brought to table. It was his favorite and he told Marguerite of it.

This was proceeding far better than he thought it would and Orrick found himself relaxing as he finished his wine. His wife was a changeable woman. Mayhap she had accepted her fate? Could this work out between them?

With those thoughts, others broke through. He had been aware of her throughout the meal. He noticed the smell of the soap she’d washed with and the softness of her skin when she placed her hand in his. Her glorious hair, wrapped into two long braids, still made his hands itch to touch it. When she leaned closer to share a quiet comment with him, he was sorely tempted to turn his face and take her lips in a kiss.

But one glance at his mother’s worried expression and he remembered what he wanted to forget—she might be breeding and he must know before he bedded her. Otherwise, as his mother’s words had warned, he would raise the king’s bastard as his heir and never know. Another whiff of her enticing scent and the sound of her husky whisper near his ear and Orrick was not certain that his mother’s way was the right one.

She was his wife and any son she gave birth to was legally his heir. Since he had raised no objection to the marriage, he had no recourse but to accept any child she bore as his. And if she carried a child by Henry and he made it known, only he would suffer embarrassment for her role as Henry’s mistress was known.

Marguerite raised her eyes to him and he reached over and pushed a stray tendril of hair off of her face. She did not flinch at his touch and even leaned into his hand, turning a casual touch into almost a caress. Heat raced through him and he felt a certain part of his body harden in response to her acceptance. His blood pounded in his veins and he knew that he would have her this night and not wait for an answer to the question his mother had raised.

His bride was no cringing virgin. She knew the ways of physical love and seemed to welcome his attentions. Mayhap ’twas best to get this first joining over quickly so that their fears and nervousness would cease?

Aye. He would not wait. He would have her.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Marguerite leaned closer and spoke to him.

“May I have your permission to seek my chambers, my lord?”

The urge to kiss her grew until he thought he would die if he did not taste her mouth. She smiled and waited for his answer.

Orrick cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, my lady. Mother, would you accompany Marguerite?”

Although his mother’s face hardened, she nodded and rose. Marguerite stood and curtsied to him. He noticed a blush creeping up from the fair skin of her chest where it was exposed by the cut of her gown, onto her neck and cheeks. He stood and kissed her hand once more and then watched her leave the table and make her way to the stairs that led to their chambers. His mother glanced at him before she followed his wife out.

He knew of his mother’s concern, but nothing could change the fact that Marguerite was his wife. He must take this important step in establishing their relationship.

“I guess the lady’s temperament has improved with some rest and good food, then?” Gavin’s words interrupted his thoughts.

“’Twould seem so.”

Gavin grabbed his arm and pulled him to his seat. “You must not appear too eager or you lose your advantage, Orrick.”

“What advantage?”

“You are lord here. Even when hot with lust, you must appear to be in control of your actions.”

“She is my wife and it is my right to have her,” he answered. Focusing his attention on his friend, he was puzzled by Gavin’s words. “Say whatever it is you hint at.”

“Do not be fooled by the display she presented to you and your people. There is more to her than a biddable wife.”

“And that would be…?” he asked.

“I do not know yet, but tread carefully with her.”

“Are you saying you think her a danger to me or to Silloth?” It was absurd, but he had learned to trust Gavin’s judgment. “Tell me what you suspect.”

Gavin took a deep breath in and let it out, looking around at those still at table and in the hall. Then he shook his head and spoke quietly. “Go. Wear yourself out in her bed. You are thinking with your cock now and my words will mean nothing until you have satisfied your need for her.”

He should not have been surprised by Gavin’s candid words, but he was. He began to argue, but Gavin stopped him.

“Your pardon, Orrick. Go. May you find joy in your marriage bed.” Before Orrick could speak, Gavin grabbed the jug of wine from the table, handed it to him and strode off.

His body reminded him of the woman waiting for him and he took one more look around the hall before leaving. The expressions of his people told him that they knew his condition. With nothing more to do or say, he carried the jug of wine with him and made his way to his chambers.

Her skin itched where he had touched her. Marguerite shuddered as she thought of his mouth on her hand and her wrist and the way he touched her face. Thankfully the meal had ended and, if she could endure the next hour, she would be free of him and his attentions for at least several days. ’Twas the reason she played this game with him now—let him have his way with her and then hopefully she could keep him away while she worked on a way to return to Henry.

She walked up the stairs silently. Edmee and his mother trailed her, whispering words that she neither could hear nor cared about. Soon she reached the third floor and walked into her chamber. Spying the door that opened into his room, she crossed to her dressing table and sat down. Edmee poured water that had been heating in the hearth into a bowl and brought it to her for washing.

The tension in the room grew as her mother-by-marriage remained at the door watching her. Finally, the lady ordered Edmee from the room and closed the door behind her.

“He is a good man, Marguerite.”

“Of course, he is, my lady.” She turned to face the older woman.

“If you give him but a small opportunity, he could bring you great happiness.”

Marguerite forced a smile to her face and nodded. “Of course,” she said again.