Sanctuary of Roses (22 page)

A soft titter erupted from her clique of
companions and Judith bit the wayward tongue that itched to lash
out at Artemis. She wasn’t surprised that the first attack had come
thus, but it would do Madelyne no help if she interfered at this
time. The queen, also, would remain silent, as it was not her
practice to intervene among her ladies’ spats. As she’d once told
Judith, if that were the case, she would spend the whole of her
days doing only that, and then would be seen as choosing favorites.
Eleanor did, indeed, have her favorites, but they were subtly
selected from ladies as intelligent and self-assured as she
herself.

Madelyne turned politely—not enough that her
back was to the queen, but just so that she could see the woman
who’d spoken—and smiled. “I am very pleased to hear that, for I was
led to believe that most of the writing and reading here at court
was provided by scribes. I could not imagine needing to rely upon
others to read my own private missives or study the Word of
God.”

Judith blinked, fighting to hold back the
smile that tugged incorrigibly at the corners of her mouth. Was
Madelyne sincere in her response—did she really believe that the
ladies studied many languages?—or did she know that Artemis’s
comment was laced with sarcasm and mockery? Most of the ladies of
the court did not read, or write, French—their own language—and
certainly had no knowledge of any other tongue, written or spoken.
’Twas a lucky thing for Madelyne, whether she made her response in
innocence or not, that Eleanor herself was an exception to that.
The queen was, indeed, very well educated. Judith herself had only
learned to write French once she arrived at court, and only because
she had asked it of the queen.

“I am certain we shall have the opportunity
to test your skills in Latin,” spoke Eleanor, interrupting the
moment. “Many of the messages I receive from my uncle in Rome are
written thus. I am not as well learned in Latin myself, so mayhap
you will assist me with them.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Madelyne curtsied
again.

“For now, you may sit next to me. You may
stitch on this embroidery and tell me more about life at the
abbey.”

“Of course, your majesty,” replied Madelyne.
“But, may I ask of you to hear tales of your journey to the Holy
Lands? I have read maps of that place, but wish to know more of it
from one who was there.”

A palpable holding of breaths hushed over
the room, and Judith clenched her fingers into her piece of
embroidery. Eleanor did not take well to having her particular
wishes diverted.

“A lady with her own agenda,” murmured the
queen.

As Madelyne sank obediently into her place
next to the queen, she appeared to have no idea that she had
perhaps offended her liege lady.

Eleanor looked down her elegant French nose
at Madelyne as though assessing her lady’s actions. “I should like
to hear about your life at the abbey, Madelyne de Belgrume, and
then, if it please me, I will tell you about Jerusalem and the
other places.”

Judith released her breath and picked up her
own stitching, pleased that the queen was not offended. She could
not hear the conversation that ensued between Madelyne and Eleanor,
but noted that the queen appeared to be interested in the tales
relayed to her, nodding her head in agreement and smiling at
moments in a rueful manner.

The morning passed quickly, and the
whispers, though still rumbling in the fringes of the group
gathered about the throne, were not overt.

Several knocks on the chamber door, and
consequent entries, did not give the ladies pause until a page
entered, requesting that entry be allowed for Gavin Mal Verne.
Judith looked quickly toward the entrance and saw the tall, dark
form of her cousin as he strode in. A hush fell over the ladies as
he passed through, his swift movement stirring the air and the hem
of his tunic flapping against his powerful thighs.

“What brings you to my presence, Lord Mal
Verne?”

He bowed to the queen. “The king has sent me
to escort you to his chambers, your majesty.”

Eleanor rose, and, standing on her dais,
still had to look up at his hawklike, impervious face. “How foolish
of my husband to waste the talents of a good man by sending him on
an errand meant for a page. Nevertheless, I will accept your
escort.” She glanced about the room as she smoothed her skirts.
“Your little nun has made herself quite entertaining to me this
morrow,” Eleanor commented as her eyes rested upon Madelyne.

“I have no doubt of that.” Gavin’s reply was
impersonal, and Judith saw that he barely flickered his attention
to Madelyne. “Your majesty, shall you accompany me?”

With a nod, Eleanor turned and walked
quickly from the room, her jewel-laden skirts dragging behind her,
as Gavin followed with nary an acknowledgement even to Judith.

“That man is fearsome,” whispered one of the
ladies as soon as the door closed. “I am like to have nightmares
just seeing him!”

“’Tis said he killed his wife in a fit of
rage. Is that true?” asked Lady Beatrice, a newer addition to the
court.

“Of course it’s not true,” snapped Judith,
standing abruptly. Her embroidery slid to the floor, and she
stepped over it to approach the others. “Lady Nicola died from a
fall off her horse.”

Artemis slanted a brown-eyed look at her.
“That is what Lord Mal Verne has said, but what else would such a
man say should he be the cause of her demise? And what else would
you say, Judith, if other than to defend your cousin? ’Tis most
likely that he helped her in that fall, as I have heard tell she
cuckolded him for another man!”

“’Though how you could still speak well of
the man after your own tragedy, caused by Mal Verne, I cannot
know,” added another lady—Renee of Hintenston.

Judith felt as though she’d been punched in
the middle. How did these cats know of Gavin’s involvement—innocent
as it was—in the death of her betrothed?

“He is not always quite so fearsome,” purred
a low voice from the corner. Lady Therese, widow of Lord Grayerton,
looked up from her loom and her smile glinted slyly.

Judith frowned. She’d heard rumors, of
course, that Gavin had been seen in her company, but she did not
put much credence to it. Therese, well-known among the court for
her overt sexual appetites and boastful comments, was much too
coarse and conspicuous for Gavin’s tastes.

“You would consort with such a man?”
squeaked Beatrice, her blue eyes wide with alarm and
admiration.

Therese, a diminutive, curvaceous woman,
rose from the loom and stepped into the center of the room.
“Dangerous men are much more exciting than those milksops like
Reginald D’Orrais,” she told the younger girl airily.

“Exciting or nay,” Artemis said pointedly,
“that man turns my blood cold. And one who would be seen with him
is likely to soon find a cold grave. Just as his wife did.” She
turned suddenly to Madelyne. “Especially little nuns.”

Renee and Beatrice tittered. Artemis stepped
toward Madelyne, who remained in her seat by the queen’s throne.
“It must be frightening for you, little nun, to find yourself in
such a vast world—so different from your cloister. Do you take care
that you do not find yourself caught up in a world that you cannot
manage.”

“Many thanks for your concern, Lady Artemis.
I have found naught to fear in this court thus far. Only the cats
with sharp claws who seek a scratching place have drawn my
attention. I shall deal with those cats as I did with the mousers
at the abbey: leave them outside in the cold.”

Judith settled in her seat. Madelyne might
appear to be fragile and naive, but there was a solid shell of
serenity about her that would keep the barbs from striking
deeply.

Seventeen

“Your name is spoken with such fear and
reverence in the ladies’ court,” Therese said into Gavin’s ear as
she settled next to him that eventide.

Dinner was finished, and the platters of
food had been removed by serfs and pages pushing between the rows
of trestle tables. Ale and wine continued to flow as the court
settled in for the evening’s entertainment.

“Most of the ladies fear you, but you know
that I see you for what you truly are.”

Gavin tore his gaze from Madelyne, who sat
among a cluster of nobility near the front of the great hall. “And
what is that, Lady Therese?”

“A man with great passion, and a man who
knows what he desires.” She pushed her generous breast against his
arm and only many years of training to control his reflexes kept
him from flinching.

He saw Madelyne turn slightly in her seat,
away from the jongleur that danced while juggling goblets on the
front dais. Her eyes scanned the crowded hall, and Gavin shifted
himself away from Therese just as Madelyne’s gaze rested upon his.
Their eyes met for a moment and suddenly his linen
sherte
and tunic felt heavy and hot. Then she turned back to her
companions and Gavin took a large sip of his ale.

“Lady Therese, did I not see the queen
beckoning to you?” asked Clem, who sat across the table from
them.

“Her majesty?” Therese nearly tripped on her
own gown in her anxiousness. “Excuse me, Lord Mal Verne, but I must
go.”

“Many blessings upon you, Clem,” said Gavin
when she had gone.

His man’s face wrinkled in a wry smile, then
settled into his usual dour expression. “A pox on all women, I
say!”

Gavin raised his brows, but his attention
had wandered back to Madelyne. Now, Lord Reginald had taken a seat
next to her. Gavin’s jaw tightened and he watched intently to see
what—if any—response she would give him. A smile, he saw, a brief
one, and then her attention returned to the jongleur.

He became aware that Clem had been muttering
on for a long moment about aught—and that fact that he was still
speaking regained Gavin’s full attention. “What is it, man?” he
asked, looking at his companion.

“Ye cannot ever trust’em! And when you think
they’re comin’ forth with what they want, and ye got’em over their
mad, then they get all mad about somethin’ else!” Clem took a long
draft of ale, as though this unusually long speech had dried his
tongue.

Gavin stared at him. “There is some comely
wench who has captured your heart, then, Clem?”

“My heart? Nay! ’Tis not my heart she’s
captured—’tis my ears and feet! The maid of Lady Madelyne—that
woman Patricka—plagues me with her demands and orders. While I
guard the lady’s door, the maid runs me willy-nilly with her silly
tales and her calls for me to move this, and reach that, and open
this, and foolish things such as that. I begin to feel like a
nursemaid to that wench!”

Gavin remained silent, nodding his head,
drinking his ale, peeking at Madelyne, and allowing Clem to bluster
on. Strange as his unchecked tirade was, it saved Gavin from the
necessity of having to respond.

“’Tis Jube whose eye has been caught by that
maid—’tis not mine,” Clem said sourly, pausing to take a gulp from
his goblet. Swiping a hand across his mouth, he continued, “It
should be he who guards the door and runs household errands for
that woman!”

Gavin, who’d seen Madelyne rise and begin to
walk in his direction, quickly returned his attention to Clem—just
in time to hear his last gripe. “Very well. If it will cease your
moaning, you are then relieved of guard duty and I shall place Jube
there during the day, henceforth. He may have his fill of the maid
as long as he does not shirk his duty to watch over Lady
Madelyne.”

Clem opened his mouth to speak, then snapped
it shut. “Many thanks my lord,” he said gruffly, and buried his
face in his goblet.

“Hail, Lady Madelyne,” Gavin said, standing
as she approached him. Her head was bare—still so strange to him to
see that beautiful hair uncovered, despite the fact that she’d worn
it thus since their arrival at court. Long strands of dark hair,
wrapped in gold cord, hung from each temple, whilst the rest had
been coiled and braided and gathered at the nape of her neck. Her
gown trailed on the floor, the wide sleeves of her overtunic nearly
brushing its hem, while hints of the tightly-laced bliaut
underneath showed the lush curves of a very un-nunlike body.

Hiding his surprise that she should have
sought him out, he continued smoothly, “I have just informed Clem
that Jube will take a stint at the guard duty out side of your
chambers for a time—during the day. At night, of course, Rohan will
continue to pace out side of your doors.”

Madelyne gave a slight curtsey, glanced with
a smile at Clem, and returned her attention to Gavin. “Aye, thank
you my lord.” She felt the weight of his stare as his eyes scanned
her from head to toe. Warmth crept up over her throat and face and
she looked away in order to regain control over her suddenly
scattered thoughts.

“I trust that your first day in Eleanor’s
court was uneventful?”

Madelyne nodded, and the strange feeling
ebbed. “’Tis nothing like the abbey, but I am certain I’ll adjust.
I have little choice, at the least until I am wed.” The words stuck
in her throat, but she must get used to saying them—and accepting
them. For, barring some act of God, it appeared that her destiny
was set.

Gavin shifted, and his face held a slight
grimace. Good, she thought, ’tis right that he should feel some
small discomfort after the result of his actions upon me. “’Tis the
reason I have come to you,” she told him. “May we walk from
here—’tis so loud—to talk? I have something I must ask of you.”

He nodded. “Of course, my lady.” He extended
his forearm and she slipped her hand under and around it, cupping
the sinewy, firm muscles under her fingers. He was warm and solid
as she bumped against him while he pushed the way through throngs
of people, leading her out of the hall. “Shall we go out side of
the keep, or would you prefer to find somewhere within? We cannot
go to your chamber of course.”