he will try to take her again. That’s the reason I came back to your presence, your majesty…not to have my actions questioned yet again.”
Henry raised a brow at Gavin’s tone, but merely replied, “Ah yes. The fair Madelyne. A source of excellent revenue for us now…but we will need to find her a husband sooner than I had wished.” Henry drank deeply, glancing at Gavin sidewise as he raised the cup. “It could be a possible task for you.”
Gavin froze, then forced himself to breathe again. “Nay,” he said. “You know I have no wish to wed again. And in particular, no wish to wed a nun. Do—”
Henry was stroking his moustache vehemently, his eyebrows raised high. “Gavin, ’tis not like you to jump to such conclusions. I meant not for you to wed with her. I well know that Nicola’s infidelity ruined you for any other woman. I meant only for you to find the best man to be her husband. One who can protect her from the madman, and one who does not mind wedding with a nun—a beautiful nun, might I remind you—in exchange for the fiefs that she will inherit when my lands are rid of Fantin de Belgrume.”
Gavin steadied himself against the heavy chair that belonged to Eleanor. “Ah.” He felt foolish at his rash words, then suffocated by the thought that in searching for a proper husband for Madelyne, he would not yet be freed of her presence. Yet, he could not naysay the king when Gavin was the one who’d brought the problem to him. “As you will, my lord.”
“So I leave you with yet another duty, Mal Verne. Two things I ask of you to take some of the weight from my burdened shoulders: find a husband for the nun, and rid me of de Belgrume. Do you not let me learn that he is still here at court! I will not have that madman slithering about my castle!”
“Aye, your majesty.”
“Tavis, you have the right of it.” Fantin’s vision swam pink and damp as he dug each of his ten long fingernails—with which he used to pluck the strings of his lute—into his thighs. “I had the girl within my grasp, and Mal Verne interfered.”
The rage still threatened to erupt within him, though he’d kept it at a simmer by fasting and praying for more than a day. Yet, Rufus was not here to lead him in his pleadings to God…and thus far, he’d received no response, no acknowledgement from Above. Was God angry with him for failing yet again?
Nay. He could not believe that. He would not believe it. He, who had given his life for this quest in the name of the Lord, would not be forsaken by Him.
“’Twas a great chance you took, entering the king’s court,” Tavis continued, offering his lord a goblet of wine. His eyes, round and dark and serious, reminded Fantin of the young Gregory, who’d also served him thus.
’Twas yet another reason he hated Mal Verne. Not only had the man had Nicola before Fantin, but Mal Verne had also taken from Fantin the young man he’d thought of as a son—slaughtering him in a battle at one of his holdings.
Tavis waxed eager, but he did not have the cunning and intelligence Gregory had possessed. Had he not been the betrothed of Mal Verne’s own cousin—Judith—was that her name? Fantin frowned, trying to recall. It had been so long ago. Nearly four autumns, and the details of that time remained foggy in his mind. All he knew was that Gregory had been taken from him. By Gavin of Mal Verne.
“Aye. None saw me, save Mal Verne and my daughter…yet, I’ll not risk being seen at court again.” The king had banned him long ago because of an incident in which Fantin had tried to gather a cluster of Henry’s own priests to join his holy quest—yet the king still continued to collect rents and taxes from him.
Fantin would not suffer long that indignity. Nay, he would not.
“I’ll leave my man Seton de Masin here, and also his cohort James of Mangewode to spy upon the workings here,” Fantin decided. “I must return to Father Rufus, for mayhap he will have the answer I cannot find.”
“If we return to Tricourten, my lord, how then will you have your revenge upon Mal Verne?” asked Tavis. “You know he will be here for some time.”
“Aye. Yet whilst he hides behind the skirts of the king, you and I shall plan his demise. And keep a watch over my beloved daughter. Mayhap…”
Fantin thought for a moment, his thoughts settling into something clearer. The pink had faded. “Aye, ’tis best. I will stay here for a time—and you with me, Tavis. Instead, I will send de Masin and Mangewode back to Tricourten with a message for Rufus. We’ll wait here, in the town, out side of the court where we shall remain unknown. Thus, news of the king will reach us more readily, and de Masin can return with communication from Father Rufus.”
He liked that plan. It felt right. Perchance God wished him to stay nearby the king and his whore, Eleanor of Aquitaine. Of all the women on this earth, she—with her sultry beauty and beckoning smile—had tempted and turned many. She had divorced her first husband, the king of France, a holier man than Henry could ever hope to be. The Whore Queen had led women on a farce of a Crusade to the most Holy of Lands, dressed in breeches like a man. Rumor had it that she and her uncle had fornicated whilst she was married to Louis of France…
A bolt like lightning struck him, and Fantin stilled. The thought shot through him, and his breathing hitched faster, yet his heart rate slowed. The trembling of his hands ceased as the surety, the knowledge flowed through him.
’Twas so clear, so perfect, so attuned to his calling that Fantin knew this would be the final step in his work.
At last his God had spoken. He understood why he must stay at court. And how his daughter could be of help to him. And why he had not managed to seize her yet.
His lips shifted to one side. With one achingly beautiful act—and in the name of God—he would destroy Mal Verne and commit the final task in this journey on which he’d been sent.
And then at last the secret of the Stone would be made clear to him.
The stone floor was cold and hard beneath her knees, and Madelyne shifted yet again to relieve the pressure. How long she’d been there, in the chapel, she did not know…but the rays of light that had been a dim moonbeam through the narrow windows were now strong golden streaks staggering across the uneven floor.
Her beads were a comfort in her hands, but there was little else to bring her ease. All that lay before her was the darkness of unknowing, uncertainty, and fear.
“Dear Father,” she prayed again, as she had so many times those last hours, “I wish only to do Your will…to live to serve You. I place my life in Your hands…I ask that you show me forgiveness for failing You and the vows I have made to You… ”
Madelyne’s voice trailed as despair and fatigue overcame her. Now, as had been the case for hours, there was no lifting of response in her breast…no certainty that her prayers had been heard…no fulfillment of knowing that her life was strong and had meaning.
Had God turned from her, knowing that she’d failed to abide by the vows she’d meant to make? Or was this a test, challenge for her to overcome. And at the end of the challenge, should she meet it, would there be the comfort of knowing that she’d done His will—whatever it would be?
Could it be that He wished for her to wed? To love a man and wed with him?
A faint scuffle reached her ears, and a booted foot stepped into the realm of her downcast vision. She raised her head without hurry, swallowing the first innate fear that it was her father, and looked into the slightly shadowed face of a man too slim to be Gavin Mal Verne.
“Lord Reginald,” she said, tempering the surprise she felt. “Do you come here to pray?” As he extended his hand, she accepted it and allowed him to assist her to stand.
He smiled, a soft quirk of tenderness. “Nay, my lady, I but came in search of you. Your maid directed me to you here…she lamented that your absence had been noted but that she had a fear of leaving the chambers to come in search of you.”
Madelyne raised her brows in surprise. “Tricky had a fear of leaving the chamber?”
“A large, burly man had been posted out side of the door,” Reginald told her, slipping her hand smoothly into the crook of his arm. “’Twas only because your maid had sent for me that I gained audience with her. She called him Clem, and he allowed me to speak briefly with her.”
“My maid sent for you?” Madelyne felt a flush rise over her cheeks and pulled her arm from his, clasping her hands in front of her abdomen. Whatever Tricky’s purpose in doing such a bold thing, she would receive a tongue lashing from Madelyne at the first opportunity. Such a transgression was not to be tolerated, even from the sunny-
