Sanctuary of Roses

present in Eleanor’s court room—so they rose and went about their business during the day.

But when the evening came, and they ate in the great hall together, Gavin could not keep his attention from Madelyne…and from the rising color on her face, he presumed that her thoughts followed the same path as his. He could not remember ever feeling happier or more fulfilled in his life.

Even in his early days with Nicola—when he’d believed they might share a love betwixt them some day—this self-same sense of contentment and pure peace was never part of his life. Madelyne had brought that depth of serenity to him, and he’d spoken truthfully to her. Somehow in the last weeks since he’d met her, Gavin had lost his death wish, his urge to leave this earth, his sense of carelessness with his life. Now…he realized he wanted only to make a life with Madelyne.

The only thing that kept him from being wholly contented was the knowledge that Fantin de Belgrume was still alive.

Later that evening, as they lay nestled together in a cocoon of bedding, Madelyne was just drifting off to sleep. Gavin’s hand stroked the length of her back while the other held her atop his chest. He toyed with her hair, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled deep within his chest, just beneath her ear.

“We shall leave for Mal Verne as soon as Henry gives his permission,” he told her. “’Tis dangerous still for you to remain at court. I have set spies about and there’s been no sign of him, but I know he has not yet given up the desire to take you. You will be safe at Mal Verne, and there you’ll be able to settle into your new life.”

She nodded against him, well content. Memories of the fortnight she’d spent at his demesne stirred pleasingly within her. “I look forward to working in the gardens, knowing that this time I will be there to see their yield.” Her mouth curved against his skin.

“I shall see Henry on the morrow about when we may leave. Mayhap we can be on our journey before week’s end.” He wrapped a thick hank of hair gently around his wrist, loosening and then tightening it absently. “I wish also to bring the queen her gift before we leave.”

“’Twas most kind of you to think of such a thing. She’ll be pleased with the necklet, I am certain. I will be working in her herb garden on the morrow, but surely word will come to me of her delight.”

“Aye. The queen does love her jewels as much as her husband loves his coin.” Gavin stroked her hair, and she smiled under the comforting weight of his wide hand.

Madelyne basked in contentment. Her father had made no move against her at court, though she’d felt a bit worried that he might hear of her wedding and object.

Mayhap he’d returned to Tricourten, and to his experiments, and would leave them alone.

Twenty-Five

Three mornings after their wedding night, Madelyne was in the private herb garden tending to the five varieties of thyme plants when Judith came rushing along the overgrown path, calling her name.

“Maddie! Maddie, oh, dear God, Maddie, Gavin has been arrested!”

“What?” Madelyne staggered to her feet, tripping over her skirts and clutching at the apple tree for support. She must have misunderstood. “What do you say?”

Clem, who’d been sitting under the tree, watching over her in his master’s stead, lurched to his feet. “What?”

Judith could barely catch her breath. Her face was white, and a lock of copper hair straggled into her face. Madelyne felt all emotion drain from her as her friend repeated the impossible words. “Gavin has been arrested.”

“Why?” was all she could think to say. Her heart was suddenly slamming in her chest, and her head had gone light.

“He has been accused of attempting to murder the queen!”

How? Why? Madelyne could only stare at Judith. She could not even voice the absurdity of such a thought. “How…how can this be? Is the queen injured?”

“He presented a gift to her this morrow,” Judith explained between short breaths as she tugged Madelyne toward the entrance of the garden. “In a wooden box, beautifully carved, and she did open it at once. But her head ached, and she passed it to Lady Therese, who wished to examine the necklet. When Therese pulled it out and placed it around her neck, she was pierced through the skin in three places. She became ill immediately, and, Madelyne, she has died .”

Madelyne stumbled after Judith, frozen, shocked, disbelieving. She tried to make sense of what her friend told her, but the only thing that resonated in her mind was that her husband had been accused of attempted murder—of the queen.

“’Tis a mistake. ’Tis absurd.” She muttered, at last standing alone and pulling from Judith. The king couldn’t believe that of Gavin. How could he? He knew her husband. She shook her head as if to dislodge the impossible, the absurd situation.

“And the king wishes to speak with you. There were needles hidden among the wires of the necklet, and poisoned.” Judith’s eyes were wide, with tears sparkling at the corners. “Gavin is to be imprisoned—and he will be executed if ’tis proven he is the murderer.”

Madelyne, followed by Clem, hurried after her friend. All the way, she tried to assimilate this news with her knowledge of the man she knew.

Nausea gathered in her middle. It was a mistake, she told herself. It was not true.

* * *

Gavin stood to the side in Henry’s private court room, his arms bound behind his back, and a man-at-arms standing at his side. Madelyne fought the urge to rush to his side. Instead, she focused on the grave face of the king as she positioned herself in front of him.

“Your majesty,” she curtseyed to him, glanced at her husband, then returned her attention to the man she’d believed was Gavin’s friend as well as his liege.

“Lady Mal Verne, do you understand what is happening here?” Henry asked. There was no sign of the light humor that had glinted in his blue eyes before, and no evidence that he had ever been anything but a harsh ruler. Indeed, his face bore a haggard but steely set.

“Aye, your majesty. My husband is suspected of attempting to harm the queen. Forgive me, your majesty, but you know that Gavin respects her majesty and yourself and is devoted to both of you!” Madelyne knew she spoke out of turn, but she could not stand to see the proud figure of her husband restrained thus. “He would have no reason to wish either of you harm!”

“Lady Mal Verne,” Henry’s voice boomed. “We are quite aware of the circumstances. We would ask that you refrain from offering your opinion until it has been asked. Now we ask you, did your husband prepare a gift to be given to the queen?”

Madelyne drew herself taller and steadfastly kept her eyes from Gavin. “Aye, he commissioned a special necklet to be made for her in thanks for our wedding. The box in which it was contained was also created especially for her majesty.”

“Aye. Created especially for her. With a poisoned pin-prick that would have sent her to her death if she had been the one to wear the necklet.” His eyes pierced blue-gray into her gaze.

“Nay, your majesty. ’Twas a gift of thanks…not of death. Why would my husband deliver himself to the queen such a thing? Would he not know that ’twould point to him immediately? He is not mad .”

But her father was.

A cold wave swept her.

Henry rose. He passed a glance over Madelyne, and she believed she detected regret in his expression. “Gavin, you must be imprisoned until this is resolved. I am sorry to do so, but the evidence against you is great and I cannot allow it to appear that I will not follow my own laws.”

“Your pardon, your majesty,” Madelyne spoke, stepping toward the king. “Please, your majesty, could it not be that someone who harbored ill against the queen—or my husband—prepared the poison?”

Henry swung toward her, a glower on his face that faded a bit as he recognized the concern in her eyes. “Of