The news spread like wildfire through the court: Gavin Mal Verne was to wed again, and to the shy little nun who was his sworn enemy’s daughter.
Reginald D’Orrais took his loss with self-deprecating grace, which found him favor with the ladies. And his slightly injured air—a sensitivity attributed to his broken heart—only garnered him more favor with them.
“He appears to be recovering quite well,” Judith commented to Madelyne as she surveyed her friend—soon to be her cousin-by-marriage—in the gown she would wear for her wedding on the morrow. “Maddie, you look stunning! Gavin will be unable to catch his breath when he sees you!”
Madelyne peered at herself in the polished mirror that Judith kept in the corner of her chamber. “Did Nicola look beautiful on their wedding day?” she asked. She had been fighting the curiosity for days—weeks, really, since her arrival at Mal Verne—and now she felt she had the right to know what had happened to Gavin’s first wife. Judith would know, and would tell her the unvarnished truth…and she would live with whatever it was she learned about her husband.
“She was beautiful, aye, in a brittle, golden sort of way…while you, Maddie…you are the cool, sensual, exquisite moon to her brassy, harsh sun.”
“What happened to her, Judith? I have the right to know now that I am to wed with Gavin. All that I have been told is that she took a lover…and that she died on the eve she went to go to him.”
Judith settled back on her stool, looking at her in surprise. “You do not know the whole of it then.” Her greenish-brown eyes scanned Madelyne, and what she saw there must have convinced her to speak the truth. “Her lover was your father, Maddie.”
Madelyne could not contain a gasp, and she felt the warmth drain from her face, leaving it cold and pale. “My father? But…my father is mad!”
Judith took her hands into her warm ones. “Aye. He is mad. But betimes he was a great favorite of the court—at the least, for those who did not know him well. I know from your own words that he laid a heavy hand to you and your mother…and that the smile he bestowed upon the ladies hid only the poison behind it. He spoke of his work with such fervor that he was praised by all—even the priests.
“Work?” Madelyne felt a crawling in her belly. “Aye…his work in that below-ground chamber… I knew only that it was a dark, frightening place…but I do not know what work he did that would have caused praise from the priests.”
“Aye, you must have been too young to understand… Your father is an alchemist, in search of the Holy Grail —the Philosopher’s Stone…which he believes will give him everlasting life. He claims that through his devotion to Mary Magdalen a vision was made known to him in which God revealed the secret of the Holy Grail. He even believes that the saint’s own blood runs in his veins!”
“My father? A holy man? Never…nay, my God would not reward him thus. ’Tis just the proof that he is mad. How is it that you know so much of my father…and yet I know so little?” Madelyne tried to pull the threads of her whirling thoughts together.
“Gregory was my betrothed, the one I was contracted to since birth. He was a boy I’d grown up with. He’d fostered at my father’s house, as had Gavin, and they were friends—although Gavin was the elder by three years. My Gregory made a foolish decision and became swayed by the fantasies of your father, and he tempted Gregory to his side with promises of immortality and power. The same as he has done with many a man. And when they beseiged a keep that belonged to Gavin, a great battle ensued…and in the course of which, Gavin struck down Gregory.”
“Oh, nay!” Madelyne sank onto Judith’s bed. “Gavin killed your betrothed! Judith, I am so sorry… ”
Judith nodded her head, but her eyes were clear. “Aye, ’tis true. Gavin did nothing wrong, Maddie… I know that—he sought only to defend his own, and his people, and he did not know it was him, covered in his helm and filthy with dirt. Gregory, in his foolishness, led Fantin into the keep through a way only he knew because of his relationship with me… aye, Gregory made a terrible mistake and he paid the price. I have long forgiven Gavin, Maddie…but I do not believe he has forgiven himself.”
“And…Nicola? Was she too struck down…?” Madelyne could not speak the words, though fear simmered in her heart. Nay, Gavin could not also have the death of his wife on his conscience…by accident or design.
“’Tis said she was leaving Gavin to go to your father…she raced across the fields and into the forest, and Gavin followed, trying to stop her. He tells me that she fell from her mount—that the horse took a jump it should not have, and she tumbled from his back. I believe that is the truth, Maddie, but there are some who believe that Gavin—in his rage—took his hands to her neck and broke it himself because he could not stand the thought of losing her to another man.” She stopped, looking directly into Madelyne’s eyes.”
“He has too much honor to do such a thing,” Madelyne told her quietly—knowing that her friend needed to hear her affirmation for Gavin.
“Aye, he does. I believe that. And that is why it has been such agony for me to see him as he has slid into this blackness which has surrounded him since the death of Nicola…and that of Gregory. If I could see that anguish wiped from his face, I’d be happy again. Mayhap you will be the one to help him do so.”
“Mayhap I will.” Madelyne sat with her hands quietly in her lap. On the morrow, she would wed him—this man whom she knew not well, but one who’d shown her both gentle and harsh sides.
“It is my greatest hope that you will, Madelyne. ’Tis my belief it is God’s will that you have been turned from your intent to be a nun so that you might save the soul of a good man.”
“My daughter is to wed with
“Aye, ’tis so. The king—with a bit of prodding from his queen, as Mal Verne tells it—has gifted him with your daughter.”
Yet another reason the queen must be punished. Fantin’s eyes pounded as they bulged in his face.
He could not allow it to happen. To have his beautiful daughter—the product of his love with Anne, the manifestation of their pure joining—wed with the rough, dangerous, Mal Verne…
To have the sacred blood of the Magdalen polluted by that of his sworn enemy Mal Verne.
Fantin reached blindly for his goblet of wine—a watery, poor vintage, but he could not expect better at this hole where he lived in the town out side of Whitehall. At the least he wasn’t forced to drink ale or water. He choked down five huge swallows before replacing the cup and stared at his man.
“They wed on the morrow?” Fantin could barely force the words from his mouth, dry and raspy from the nasty wine and his own fury.
“Aye. The court is awash with joy over the celebration.”
An emptiness surged over Fantin and he sank onto his chair. There was no way he could halt the wedding… even he, in his pulsing, pounding need, knew this.
All could not be lost. There must be a way. There must be a reason for this. To have his get consummate a marriage with Gavin Mal Verne… ’Twas all he could do to keep from screaming.
If she was to help him, his daughter could not be sullied—dirtied—by the touch of a man, any man…but most particularly that of Mal Verne. As the product of the pristine relationship between himself and Anne, Madelyne was meant for more. She’d been resurrected from the dead, after a fashion, and destined for holiness.
Somehow, he must wrest her from Mal Verne—most especially before she was got with child. Madelyne was meant to play a role in his work, and Fantin would not allow himself to be stopped.
On the even of their wedding night, Gavin found his betrothed on the battlements atop the castle of Whitehall. He knew this because Rohan had sent the word to him, but then remained to watch over his lady.
She stood near the edge, looking out over the darkness that yawned before her. Her night-dark hair had come loose from its coils and fluttered like so many banners in the healthy breeze. She’d turned her face up to the slice of moon that hung among the dancing stars.
“Surely you do not find wedding with me such a challenge that you should jump, choosing death instead of me,” he said quietly, purposely echoing similar words he’d said to her on the battlements at Mal Verne. Tonight, he
