“How come you on your task of finding a husband for that little nun?” Henry changed the subject.
Before Gavin could reply, a knock came at the chamber door and a squire entered. “Her majesty has arrived and awaits your pleasure,” said the young man with a short bow.
“Indeed, I have been awaiting her for the last hour. Bid her enter.” Henry waved his hand impatiently. “How can it take a woman so long to prepare for bed?” he grumbled.
“When one is preparing for bed with the king of the realm,” a husky voice said from the doorway, “one must do the preparations justice.”
Garbed in a fur-lined satin robe, Eleanor crossed the room. Giving a brief curtsey to her husband, she then raised a cheek to him. He kissed it and grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Madame, you are beautiful as always,” he told her. When she glanced curiously at Gavin, the king explained, “I shall be only another short while. Please, sit…and mayhap you will have an opinion on the matter at hand.”
He gestured to Gavin, who had risen upon Eleanor’s entrance. “Your majesty, may I pour you some wine?”
“Only if ’tis from Aquitaine,” she responded with a coy smile.
“Of course. The king has only the best of all vintages,” he said smoothly, nodding pointedly in her direction to include her in the compliment.
She was delighted. “Gavin Mal Verne, I did not expect such an agreeable response from you. The ladies speak of you with such apprehension…half of them would swoon if you so much as looked at them, they fear your black moods so much.” She laughed and took the goblet that he offered to her. “Now I know better and will not allow them to speak thus.”
Gavin wasn’t certain how to respond, so he merely nodded again and, after she sat, he, too, sank into a chair. Henry continued to pace, fussing with his tunic, a sheaf of parchments, his goblet of wine…whatever it was that caught his eye and allowed him to expend energy.
“Do you hunt with us on the morrow?” Eleanor asked Gavin.
“Aye, your majesty. I didn’t know that you planned to join us.”
She nodded regally, her blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. “I and several of my ladies will join you. I look forward to fresh venison or mayhap a wild pig if all goes well.”
The king seemed to pull himself from the frenetic activity of pacing the chamber back to his companions and his own agenda. “So, Gavin, have you found a husband for Madelyne de Belgrume? The sooner she is wed and bed, the easier I shall feel—for de Belgrume will have no cause to disturb my court. And of course I shall assess a significant brides-price for her hand,” he added, tugging at his beard.
Eleanor drained her goblet. “My solar is abuzz with the rumors that John of Kilharten plies for her suit, while Reginald D’Orrais appears to have the favor of all, including the lady herself.”
Henry whirled, his overtunic spinning from his body like the petals of a flower. “And you—madame…who is your favorite to wed with the woman who would be a nun?”
“Reginald is a fine man—if a bit young, but fine enough for the likes of Madelyne. She will give him no trouble, and he is smart enough to keep her from the hands of her father.”
“Gavin? Do you have a thought on this or will you continue to stare blankly at your hands while we make the decision?”
“I had not given D’Orrais much thought, my liege. As her majesty says, he is young…but smarter than Kilharten, who cannot tell his hand from his foot in the dark. Still, D’Orrais has little experience with a large fief such as Tricourten, and may not have the ability to keep it producing the rents you are accustomed to.” Gavin knew that attacking the king’s coffers was the most effective way to sway his opinion.
“Aye. Hmmm…well, you must make an assessment. I have too many other burdens to see to. I cannot bother myself much longer with this trite situation. Make a recommendation by three days hence, or I will make it easy and give the nun to D’Orrais. He isn’t a bad choice—’tis your task to see that he is the best choice. Unless you find a compelling reason not to select him, ’twill be D’Orrais.”
Henry looked pointedly at the chamber door. “You may leave us now.”
Gavin bowed to the king, then for the queen, and took his leave.
The hall was dark—it was well past midnight—and he wended his way back toward the chamber set aside for several of the nobles such as himself.
Reginald D’Orrais…’t could be worse, had the king leaned toward Kilharten, or any of the other lascivious or stupid men who made up the court. At the least, D’Orrais was gentle with his horses—something that was a sure indication of his propensity toward others. And he was not stone dumb.
Madelyne appeared to have some fondness for the man. He seemed always to be at her side…and had even escorted her to her chamber on two occasions, as Jube and Rohan had reported. Gavin supposed he would be considered handsome to a young maid such as Madelyne—most especially to one who had had little interaction with men due to her days in the abbey.
He rounded the last corner, thinking little about where he was going, but focusing his attention on what could be wrong with D’Orrais—and why he would not be a prime choice for Madelyne—and hurtled straight into a warm, soft person.
“Lord Gavin,” murmured a familiar voice. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Therese?” he responded, refocusing his thoughts. “What are you doing out of your chamber at such an hour?”
She placed her hand on his arm, smoothing it up toward his shoulder. “I had hoped you would return this evening that we might have some moments to…talk.”
“Talk?” Gavin repeated in confusion. Then, her very insistent hand moved over his chest and, tugging his arm, propelled him toward her.
“Nay, you are correct. Talk is not what I would prefer from you,” she murmured, pressing her lips against his.
It was a testament to his confusion and distraction that Gavin did not feel the weight of the eyes staring from behind him as Therese pulled him into a dark alcove.
“There! ’Tis off through that underbrush!”
Gavin bent low over Rule’s neck as the destrier thrashed through bushes and bramble in the wake of the dogs and a wild boar that was now their quarry. Thomas’s mount nosed up beside his, and he could hear the crashing of the others just behind them.
Gripping his lance tightly, Gavin shouted, “I’m to the left!” and Rule veered off toward that direction in response to the pressure of his thighs. A low-hanging branch whipped toward him, and Gavin ducked in time to feel only the scrape of twigs over his bare head. Wearing a helm during a hunt was uncomfortable, but distaining one left a man vulnerable to being toppled from a mount or having a scratched face.
Gavin rose slightly in his saddle as Rule pounded through the wood, the stallion relishing the chase as much as his master. The baying of the hounds echoed shrilly in the air, and he saw the dark rump of the boar as it leapt over a small creek.
Some of the others in the party had split off to follow Gavin, while the main group continued on in the boar’s path. “There! Again!” shouted Lord Ferrell, coming up from behind.
“Aye!” Gavin gave a short wave, bending low in the saddle, and feeling the exhilaration surge through him. Even if he didn’t get a shot at the boar, the thrill of the ride and the wild danger was enough to satisfy him.
Ferrell’s horse took a leap over a small bush and dashed ahead of Gavin and Rule, its rider throwing a white- toothed grin as they passed. “First!” he called back, letting Gavin know that he would take the initial shot and his friend should be prepared to follow with a second.
“Go!” Gavin shouted. He didn’t need to kick Rule to urge the horse faster. They were bounding over fallen trees and between thin saplings at breakneck speed. Green and brown blurs passed on each side, broken only by splashes of bright sunshine where it streamed down into the forest in erratic patterns.
The hunt was dangerous—most especially for those in the lead, and even more so when it was a cornered boar they sought. Riding at top speed, dodging the pitfalls of a forest, and clutching a lance at the same time made it as hazardous as fighting a battle. The boar itself could be erratic and fast, and Gavin had seen more than one fatal swipe of a horn gouge man, horse, or dog.
The cry of the hounds grew more urgent, and he knew that the boar had been cornered. Shifting his lance,
