wind, his stance tall and commanding. This was the Gavin she had first experienced—the harsh, shuttered man with nary a hint of humor or softness in his persona. She’d thought mayhaps that had been only a shell that had begun to crack in those days at Mal Verne, but now, it seemed that she was wrong. That gentle moment in the garden when he brushed her hair behind her ear, and confessed that he’d sought her out to enjoy her presence…and the bold, sensual kiss they’d shared after her rescue: those moments did not belong to this man, here and now. Mayhaps they’d been only of her imagining.
“Lady Madelyne.” His deep voice rumbled, tinged with annoyance, catching her attention over the cacophony of other arrivals and making a flush rise in her face.
She looked at him without flinching for the first time since he’d kissed her in the wood, and she struggled to appear unmoved. “Aye, my lord?”
He offered her his arm without another word, and reluctantly, she slipped her fingers over the sleeve of his mail hauberk. They’d taken several steps toward the castle entrance before he deigned to speak to her again. “’Tis unlikely the king will grant you an audience before the morrow, so I will send for you when he does. You may be called to serve her majesty in the mean while, and if that should happen and I cannot attend you, seek out Lady Judith of Kentworth. She is very kind and she will help you in my stead.”
All at once, panic swamped her. Madelyne swallowed, barely noticing that they had entered the castle called Whitehall and that they were making their way down a stone hall filled with people. Some called acknowledgements to Gavin, and others eyed them with blatant curiosity. A small group of ladies passed by, dressed in bright, sumptuous gowns, and looked in askance at her as they offered cooing greetings to her companion. Madelyne took small comfort in the fact that his response to them was as cool and unemotional as ’twas toward her, for her mind was on the matter at hand.
He was going to leave her here—at court—alone.
The stab of trepidation returned and she struggled to contain her panic. He wouldn’t leave her if it wasn’t safe, she told herself as he manipulated them silently down the hallway. She might be new and naive to the ways at court, but she would learn them. Remaining here, under the care of the king and queen, was far preferable to being turned over to her father. A shiver raced through her, and although Gavin glanced down, he said nothing.
As they walked along the hallway, Madelyne renewed her private vow to do what she must to remain under the king’s care…and to return to the abbey for her final vows should the king release her.
“The ladies’ chambers are there,” Gavin spoke, coming to a halt at the commencement of a side hall. He paused, stepping away from Madelyne and allowing her fingers to slip from his arm. He appeared to be looking for someone, and she backed toward the wall, tucking her fingers into the sleeves of her overtunic to hide their trembling.
A faint musty smell from the damp masonry reached her nose, and she wrinkled it slightly, hoping that her lodgings would not be so chill. Gavin gave her a brief look, followed by a short gesture indicating that she should stay there, then started down an adjoining hall, craning his head this way and that.
Feeling bereft and out-of-place, Madelyne tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, leaning back into a small corner. She watched in silence as people continued to pass by, giving her nary a glance as they chattered, argued, or laughed.
A familiar squeal of laughter reached her ears just as Gavin reappeared at her side, and they turned as one to look down the hall from where they’d come. Madelyne felt her companion spew out a long breath, but he said nothing as they were accosted by a breathless, bright-eyed Tricky, who was flanked by Jube, Clem, and Peg—as well as several serfs toting trunks and cloth bags.
Tricky ignored Gavin and went directly to Madelyne, taking her hands with soft, pudgy ones, and giving a sketch of a curtsey. When she rose to her full, diminutive height, her face was shiny and apple-cheeked. “There you be, my lady! I made certain to wait for our trunks that they be delivered to the right chamber.” Glancing at Gavin, who hadn’t done much to hide his faint annoyance, she spoke, “’Tis said my lord has enough influence in his majesty’s court to procure a private chamber for you, my lady.”
Madelyne looked at him in dismay. It had not occurred to her that she might have to share a chamber with some of the other ladies of the court, and she waited, holding her breath, for his response.
“Do you not look so unsettled,” he responded with a gentler tone than she’d anticipated. “’Tis the reason we wait here—I expect the page to return with word of your chamber—a private one for you, my lady, as your maid seems to think you warrant such.”
“Aye, and costly ’twill be too, my lady. But ’tis the least can be done for you that you do not have to share a chamber with the other ladies.” Tricky cast a brief yet pointed look at Gavin.
Madelyne’s dismay turned to confusion. “Cost? But…what cost would there be—his majesty has requested— nay, ordered—my presence here. Surely it is not expected… ” Her voiced trailed off as she saw the impatient look on Gavin’s face.
“Lodging is available at no cost if you wish to sleep in the women’s quarters, on a pallet on the floor, with the other scores of women and children who follow the court—”
Tricky interrupted boldly—not unlike a terrier fiercely defending her mistress against a lion in his den. “My lady cannot stay in such a public place! Lady Madelyne, ’tis the very least can be done for you to arrange for a private chamber since his majesty has required your presence here.”
“But at what cost?” she asked, acutely aware that she had no funds with which to pay for her keep. Her chest tightened as the reality closed over her: she was completely at the mercy of the ways of the court, and with no money, she was even more vulnerable. “I haven’t—”
Gavin cut her off with a curt sweep of his hand. “Do you not concern yourself with such matters. You shall be lodged here, and clothed and fed in the manner befitting the Lady of Belgrume. The expenses will be managed by Clem—send you to him any costs you incur.”
Madelyne’s voice left her as she stared at him in a combination of horror and outrage. “Lord Mal Verne, I cannot accept that you should bear the expense of my stay at court.” She twisted her hands, still tucked in the sleeves of her overtunic, but kept her voice quietly even.
He glanced at her as though she were a fly buzzing about his ear, his brows knitting together in a dark line. “You were brought to court under my care, and will remain thus until the king relieves me of such duty—thus your expenses will be borne by Mal Verne.” When she was about to speak again, he gave her a quelling look, his face hard-planed and dark with annoyance. “Do you not fear—Mal Verne can easily bear any expense you might incur. I’ll hear no more on the matter.”
He turned away to speak with Clem, leaving Madelyne to glare at him in angry futility. The man had the unlikable penchant for snapping at one when he wished to hear no more of a conversation. She withdrew her hands from her sleeves and folded her arms across her middle, turning from him in frustration. She did not intend to be a burden to him—or to anyone else. She would return to the abbey as soon as she gained permission from the king. What reason could the king want her—a nun—to stay in his court?
An unexpected shard of pain caused her to curl her mouth as Gavin’s words penetrated her thoughts. A duty she was to Gavin of Mal Verne—and naught more than that. When the king relieved him of his care of her, she would not see him again.
Whether that be a blessing or a curse, she did not know.
Twelve
“Nay, ’tis not right,” Madelyne protested as Peg held a length of garnet-colored cloth alongside her face to check the color with her complexion.
The maid ignored her as she and Tricky clucked about, discussing colors and styles with the seamstress who had appeared at the door of their chamber the morning after their arrival.
“’Tis like the night sky!” Tricky breathed, sighing over a vibrant blue cloth shot with silver threads.
“Aye, mistress, and silver stars and moons embroidered on the cuffs,” nodded the seamstress. Madelyne realized in annoyance that the woman had learned to disregard her protests almost immediately, turning her attention to the short, plump women who fluttered about their lady. The seamstress’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as yet another bolt of cloth was added to the growing pile of silks and linens and wools.
