Sanctuary of Roses

Gavin stood again in his saddle as Rule careened toward the noise and the scent of fear.

Just as Rule, nostrils flaring and breath streaming in hard pants that matched Gavin’s own zeal, leapt over a fallen log, Gavin felt his left leg give way. In an instant, the world tilted and he was falling, rolling, crashing, out of control. A shout registered in his tumbled mind, pain seared along the shoulder and arm on which he’d landed, and a high-pitched squeal that meant danger to his ears shocked him to continue rolling back to his feet.

Dizzy, out of breath, Gavin groped for support at the log over which Rule had leapt and found himself facing a red-eyed, well-horned black boar. His fingers closed reflexively, but the lance was long gone during his tumble, and the boar was already charging.

Shouts and the thudding of hooves penetrated his mind as Gavin reached for a heavy stick. He swung at the tiny-eyed, black-bristled face as it barreled toward him. He connected with the flat nose that was close enough he could see water dripping from it, and an enraged squeal rent the air as Gavin stumbled away from its flailing hooves and overpowering stench.

Just as he hauled himself upright, another shout and a shriek of rage echoed in the clearing…followed by a second shriek that became almost a moan at the end. Thomas rode up at that moment, tossing Rule’s reins to Gavin. “Are you hurt?” he asked as his friend heaved into the saddle.

“Nay,” Gavin replied, breathless, as he gathered his wits about him enough to look at the scene before him. The boar lay on his side, shuddering its last breath, with three lances piercing its hide. The dogs sniffed eagerly, and were being called back by the masters even as the hunters clustered in more closely.

“What a fall!” Ferrell loped over on his mount. “What happened?”

Gavin suddenly remembered and slid off his saddle. “I felt the stirrup give way as Rule jumped,” he told them, and held up the broken leather stirrup. “If I had not been standing for the leap, I’d likely have kept my seat,” he frowned. “But it could not have broken on its own.”

“Could you have sliced it with your lance?” asked Lord Michael d’Gloetherin.

“What fool do you think I am?” he snapped, suddenly feeling the pain in his shoulder and arm. “I manage my weapons and would not make such a foolish mistake. And, if I’d been so careless, or someone else had been close enough to be so, would not Rule have been cut as well?”

“Aye. And you have great care for your saddle and Rule,” Thomas added gravely. His eyes met Gavin’s and their suspicions mirrored each other. Fantin.

King Henry rode up at that moment. “Mal Verne—are you hurt? I did not see the fall, but I am told ’twas most magnificent.” His infectious smile flashed as he saw that Gavin was unhurt.

“Though I would not wish to repeat it, I would agree that it would be hard to match it ever again.” Gavin grunted in pain as Thomas jostled close enough to touch his shoulder. “I’ll have some care to my arm when we return, but it does not pain me overmuch. Shall we ride on?”

“Nay. We return. The others found two deer and a wild pig, so we are in need of no more,” replied another hunter.

Gavin would not have admitted it aloud, but he was thankful for the reason to return to the castle sooner rather than later. Now that his energy had ebbed and they rode along at a much less dangerous pace, the throbbing in his shoulder increased enough to make him grit his teeth and keep his conversation to a minimum.

A sudden thought bloomed in his mind, soothing his discomfort: he would return and seek out Madelyne to care for his hurt.

In the past, when he’d received small injuries, he would have squirreled out one of the king’s squires or pages who could plaster on a paste of putrid herbs and wrap his injury—as would any other man injured in such a way. But now, he would impose upon her to see to his needs.

Her long, narrow fingers would smooth on some paste that likely smelled awful but cooled and appeased the injury. She’d wrap it gently and mayhap offer him a tea or infusion to drink to ease him in his sleep. And he’d think, yet again, of her as a calm, quiet Madonna…and smell the scent of her as she bent to him…and feel the warm heaviness of her touch…

The clattering of hooves across the wooden bridge leading to Whitehall pulled Gavin from those oddly disturbing thoughts, and the proximity to the woman in question brought upon more disconcerting ones. What if she didn’t want to take care of him? She was not obliged, and he had no right to ask it of her. He shouldn’t ask it of her. She owed him nothing and soon she would belong to Reginald D’Orrais.

The frown settling between his brows must have been a fierce one, for Thomas trotted over and said, “It appears that you are in more pain than you displayed in the wood. Allow me to have Rule brushed down and stabled for you. Seek you help in taking care of your injuries.”

“I’m fine,” Gavin replied gruffly, sliding down from his saddle. Clem appeared and ’twas with great relief that he handed the bridle to him. “Thomas, you have enough to do. Clem can take care of Rule for me.” He looked at his man. “Do you know where Madelyne is? I have a need to speak with her.”

Clem shifted as he fought to keep Rule from storming toward the stables. “I believe she is in the orchard garden. At the least, ’tis what her maid told me when I last saw the harpy some half hour past.”

Gavin forbore to acknowledge his man’s uncharacteristically caustic comment. Instead, he gave Rule a last pat of thanks for being so beautifully sure-footed, and said, “My thanks Clem. I’ll be off to locate Lady Madelyne.”

Though he started off with alacrity, Gavin slowed his footsteps as he approached what was known as the orchard garden. What fool was he that he should impose upon her—even that it should occur to him to seek her out to care for his needs? Indeed, why had it been such a natural, unconscious thought that he would go to her? She owed him naught but disdain, and, in truth, he was beholden to care for her far more than she would be answerable to his well-being.

Gavin’s steps faltered as he found himself entering the garden—which was, in reality, more of a grove of trees and benches than any true orchard. She would be sitting with Judith, mayhap, and some other ladies who did not hunt, and he would thus approach like a young boy with a scraped knee.

Distaste filled his mouth and he whirled abruptly to leave. He would seek comfort from some other lady who might care to deliver it. He thought fleetingly of Lady Therese, who had kissed him well and soundly in the alcove the evening before…but then decided he preferred to find a squire taught in easing war wounds instead.

He’d taken two more steps back out of the garden when he heard his name called behind him. Cursing under his breath, he turned back to see Judith hailing him from near an apple tree.

“Gavin! Are you hurt?” she asked, reaching to touch his arm.

“Nay…only a small injury,” he told her, glancing beyond her shoulder to see if Madelyne followed. Dirt and blood must have dried on his face for Judith to have guessed at his accident.

“If you seek Madelyne,” Judith spoke, reading his mind, “she sits back under the pear tree.”

“Nay, I…we just returned from the hunt, and I am dirty and wet.” He turned to go, realizing how filthy and sweaty he must be.

“She sits with Reginald D’Orrais,” added Judith casually. “All the court knows that he is to be named her betrothed on the morrow.”

Gavin looked at her, but she had turned to wave to another lady-in-waiting who hurried past the garden gate toward the castle. Judith looked back at him. “I must go, for I am promised to the queen now that she has returned from the hunt.” She hurried off, leaving him to stare after her with an angry tightening in his belly.

D’Orrais. The man might be plying suit for her hand, but it had not yet been granted to him, and he presumed overmuch. Gavin clenched his fist and wheeled back into the garden, setting his teeth in line so hard his jaw hurt.

He would remind Madelyne that she was not yet betrothed and that sitting in the garden unchaperoned would only lead to damaging rumors about herself. She was not accustomed to court life, and could not realize that such simple actions were often the cause of much destruction.

Gavin fed his anger thus, stalking toward the corner of the garden where the pear tree grew.

He came around the bush into a full view of Madelyne and Reginald D’Orrais. They were in an intimate embrace.

Twenty