belly, and neither food nor drink seemed to alleviate it.
Henry rose and paced over to where his scribe sat, scratching busily upon a parchment. The man could not speak, although he could write and hear well, so Henry preferred his attendance over all other scribes at court. “A missive to Fantin de Belgrume, informing him of his daughter’s impending marriage, and the assessment of a fine for our services in arranging the betrothal, would be in order as well, do you not agree, my lady? One hundred gold coins should suffice.” He chuckled complacently.
“Aye,” Eleanor purred from her seat in the formal court chamber where Madelyne had met with the king only a se’ennight earlier. “All the court—the ladies most especially—gladly await the announcement of a wedding celebration. Indeed, the sooner she is wed and bedded, the easier I’ll be. I like the girl—she’s no Therese, the foolish slut,” she cast a shrewd glance at Gavin, who quickly took another drink of wine, “thank the saints, but she’s caused enough havoc among my ladies that I am ready to have her out of my sight.” She smoothed her gown, then looked up. “Gavin, my darling, would you please pour me some of that wine you have been hoarding?”
“Of course, your majesty.” He found his voice and moved to do her bidding.
“Gavin, have you summoned D’Orrais? ’Tis nigh time we had this arranged.” Without waiting for a response, Henry stood and stalked to the door leading from the court room to the main alcove. He flung it open, bellowing for a page to attend him at once.
Eleanor watched in amusement, then returned her attention to Gavin. “Well, my lord, ’tis the moment you have long sought. You shall thus be relieved of your duty to Lady Madelyne, and free to return to your lands—or to your warring, whichever it is that you interrupted to bring her to our presence.” A sly light colored her eyes as she curved her lovely mouth into a smile. “You have served us well, Lord Gavin, now, and these years past. I am quite sure that my husband would agree, would you not, my lord?”
Henry, who had sent a page scuttling off to fetch Reginald D’Orrais, returned to his wife’s side and, resting a hand upon her shoulder, nodded. “Of course. Mal Verne knows that I value his service.” He paced over to the table and picked up a piece of apple, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed like a cow.
Eleanor glanced at Gavin, who stood lamely to one side. The queen spoke true…his desire to be free of the responsibility of Madelyne’s well-being was upon him. Yet… He looked at Eleanor, and she caught his eye, tipping her head slightly.
Suddenly, it burst from him. “I would wed Madelyne de Belgrume.” The words were out before Gavin could bite them back, and he stood, silent, as shocked by the statement as Henry appeared to be.
“What?” the king roared, slamming his hand onto the table and the edge of the plate. The platter flipped onto the floor, scattering food beneath the moving feet of the king. “Gavin, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“D’Orrais cannot hope to compete with Fantin’s wiles,” Gavin explained, the words rushing from his suddenly loose tongue, the facts and arguments all lining up as if he’d long thought them. “Nor does he have the experience or knowledge to manage a fief such as Tricourten at the level of rents you expect, sire. As well, you have bid me find a manner in which to contain de Belgrume, and I believe that wedding with his daughter would give me ample opportunity to do so.” He paused, then added, “And, most practically, ’tis time I married again. I must have heirs, and a wife who can minister to me when I am hurt or ill would be an asset as well.”
Henry smiled slyly. “You would indeed have a time of it begetting an heir on that nun. She is—” He abruptly stopped when he saw the black expression on Eleanor’s face. “Aye, well, then, Gavin, forgive me if I appear to be more than a bit… stunned…by your pronouncement, as you have bewailed the burden of seeing to that young woman for weeks now. And now, when you have the chance to unload yourself, you request to be shackled to her?” He shook his head, but a grin tickled behind his beard. “Do you fancy yourself in love with the maid?”
“Of course not,” Gavin replied, gripping his goblet more tightly. “As I explained, it is the most fitting of solutions. As you charged me with the task of finding her a husband, I hereforth make my recommendation.”
Henry looked at him, exchanged glances with his wife, and nodded. At that moment, the throne room door opened, and a page announced Reginald D’Orrais, who entered just in time to hear Henry’s words. “Aye, then, Gavin, you may have Madelyne de Belgrume to wife. And a very generous fine to your liege as for the privilege.”
Twenty-Two
When Gavin departed the throne room, leaving a flabbergasted and glowering Reginald D’Orrais behind, he knew his first action must be to speak with Madelyne.
As much as he had been shocked by his own actions, and needed the opportunity to assimilate this new event himself, he must talk with her before D’Orrais—or some other wagging tongue of the court—did.
At the least he knew he wouldn’t find her with D’Orrais this time. Gavin’s mouth flattened into a humorless smile. If the man stepped foot near her again, Gavin would put him out of his misery.
This thought checked his rapid footsteps—only for a moment, but enough for Gavin to reflect on how strongly and quickly the possessive urge had come over him. He rather found he liked it.
As he neared Eleanor’s solar—where he was sure he would find Madelyne, as ’twas midday—Gavin’s footsteps slowed. What would she say? What could she say, he reminded himself. The king had made his decision and they would wed.
How would he tell her? Would she wish to have Reginald in the stead of himself? She had appeared accepting of that eventuality…yet, there was the kiss they shared… He knew that Reginald’s kiss could not have affected her the same way his own had. After all, Gavin himself had interrupted them, and he’d seen nothing of glazed eyes or swollen lips when they broke apart.
Still. ’Twas he, Gavin, who had dragged her from her life in the abbey, and he was certainly not such a prize as the young, handsome, gentle D’Orrais…
He’d reached the door to the solar, and the page waited expectantly for him to speak. “I seek Lady Madelyne de Belgrume,” he told him. It was unnecessary to identify himself.
When he stepped into the chamber in the wake of the page, the room—scented with the myriad of perfumes of the ladies and studded with their colorful apparel—skittered into silence. His gaze immediately found Madelyne and he saw that she sat near Judith. She was clad in a soft gray gown and white over-tunic, both trimmed with blue and yellow embroidery. Her gleaming ink-colored hair coiled intricately over her ears, pulled back softly to frame her fair, oval face. Their eyes met, and he felt the unmistakable bump of his heart shifting out of line…and then back… as he realized that she really belonged to him. He felt Therese’s eyes upon him, and heard snatches of whispers and sighs as he strode to his betrothed’s side.
“My lady, I wish to speak with you,” he told her with a brief bow. He glanced at Judith, who looked at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. It was leaning toward a frown, with a tinge of disappointment woven within. He wondered, fleetingly, what his cousin would say when she learned the news.
Or mayhaps she already had, and thus was the cause for her disappointment.
“Of course, my lord.” Madelyne rose as she spoke, her stomach squeezing. He had come to bring her the news of her betrothal. Tricky had been wrong. Her hands trembled slightly as she put aside her embroidery.
She felt a sudden rush of the past, remembering the day he’d come to take her from the abbey. She’d been sitting, engrossed in her work, in much the same manner that morning…and, like today, his very action of taking her from her work would serve to cause ripples throughout her life.
His presence arrested the room, and his person—tall, garbed in dark blue and forest green—towered among the women. It was as if the chamber held its collective breath when he entered, apprehension and respect exuding from all corners. Yet, Madelyne knew that the harsh, dark persona was a wall that had been built and she grieved that others could not see past it. With a brief glance at Judith, whose attention was focused, not on her but upon her cousin Gavin, Madelyne slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Reginald was attending me when he was called to the king’s side,” she told him, once the eager ears of the ladies were behind them.
Gavin looked down at her, pausing there outside of the solar, searching her eyes. She had difficulty meeting his gaze, and looked away. “I have come with word as to what transpired in the king’s chambers with your suitor,” he told her. “Let us go to a private place and I will tell you all.”
