Sanctuary of Roses (20 page)

“Do you not fear, daughter—we shall meet
again when you do not have your cowardly protector about. I’ll not
let anyone stand in the way of our reunion—mark me well.” He
struggled to his feet and smoothed a hand over his high,
silvery-blond mane. Shooting a glare filled with loathing at Gavin,
Fantin jeered, “Once again, sirrah, you have managed to hide behind
the skirts of the king to get your way. Enjoy it whilst you have
that advantage, for the king’s might is naught compared to that of
my Lord’s.”

His face just as dark and furious, Gavin
forbore to respond. Instead, he merely watched as Fantin scuttled
away. As soon as he was out of earshot, he turned to Madelyne.
“’Tis no more than you deserve,” he snapped, glaring at her as she
rubbed her shoulder. “Do you not go unescorted through this
castle—or anywhere—Lady Madelyne, or the next time, I may not be
able to intervene. Have I not already warned you of that
folly?”

“Once again, I owe you my thanks,” Madelyne
replied from between lips stiffened to keep them from trembling. He
was right in his anger and fury; he had warned her.

“Come. I’ll see that you reach your chamber
with no further incident.” He offered her a solid arm, and she
winced when she raised her hand to accept it. “What? My lady, are
you hurt?” Gavin stopped and peered searchingly at her.

“Only a bit of an ache on my shoulder,”
Madelyne replied evasively, still stung by his sharp reprimand, and
stunned by all that had happened so quickly. She turned to continue
walking, but he whirled her back to face him.

“Wait.” The command gentled his voice as
firm fingers gingerly felt along her arm, up along her shoulder. “I
did not know he’d hurt you,” Gavin said, his mouth tightening when
she winced at the probe of his forefinger. He looked down at her,
and Madelyne recognized concern in his gray eyes. Their gazes met
and held fast as the world slowed.

Her breath caught in her throat and she
suddenly became acutely aware of the warmth and heaviness of the
fingers that were now caressing her arm. Despite the haze of
disbelief and bewilderment that had benumbed her since her audience
with King Henry, Madelyne felt her pulse leap. Heightened
sensitivity blaze throughout her limbs. When Gavin’s other hand,
large and brown, reached up to tuck away a lock of hair that had
fallen from her coiffure, she thought she might stop breathing.

Her lips parted slightly, fulling, as
Madelyne looked up at him, and she saw his eyes flare wider for an
instant before they narrowed.

“The king has the right of it,” Gavin said
in a low voice, “you are much too beautiful to be a nun.” His hand,
which had hovered, raised, now lifted higher to slip a lock of hair
behind her ear. He brushed along her jawline, sending warmth to
suffuse her face.

Then, his words registered through her foggy
mind and sanity reigned. “Too beautiful?” Madelyne stepped away,
backing into the damp stone wall, then shifting to the right. “What
has beauty to do with anything?”

Chagrin flooded his face and he dropped his
hand back to his side. His features realigned into the familiar
stone mask and his eyes took on a sardonic gleam. “’Tis no secret
our king has an eye for comely women,” he replied.

Madelyne tucked her fingers into her sleeves
and turned away. “Then more’s the pity for her majesty the queen.
And again, I ask, Lord Gavin,” she said, purposely using his title
to reaffirm distance between them, “what has beauty to do with a
woman’s religious vocation? Must I mutilate my face or shave my
hair in order to be allowed to do that which I wish?” She swallowed
heavily, barely able to keep her voice from breaking in
frustration.

“That would be a very foolish thing to do,”
he responded quickly. “His majesty has already made his decision,
and ’twould serve no purpose to harm yourself so—only to cause
yourself pain.” He took her arm firmly—the one that did not pain
her—and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. “Come, now, lady. I
shall return you to your chamber so that your hurt can be seen
to.”

Fifteen

Despite the fact that he’d just left Henry’s
presence, Gavin was readmitted to the king’s courtroom upon his
request. The courtier who had dismissed him an hour earlier swung
the large oaken door open once again, bowing Gavin into the large
room.

“Aye, Gavin, what is it that brings you back
so soon?” Henry griped, glancing up from a parchment missive that
still had a bit of blue wax clinging to it.

“De Belgrume is here. And he nearly relieved
you of the wardship of his daughter.” Rage still simmered in his
hands, causing them to clench and unclench in memory of Fantin’s
soft neck.

“What? Here? In my court?” Henry bolted from
his chair. “How can that be? He has been banned for two
winters!”

“I do not know, but he would have made off
with Madelyne had I not arrived on the scene as I did. I can only
suspect that he was waiting without for an opportunity to grab her.
You know as well as I the number of spies in this court.” Gavin
stepped aside as his king stalked off the dais and past him to
thrust the parchment he’d been holding into the face of his
secretary, who sat, shoulders scrunched, in the corner.

“And did you do no damage to the man?”

Gavin’s mouth tightened. “I nearly sent the
man to his grave. My hands were thus about his skinny neck.”

“Nearly?” Henry bellowed. “Why in the blazes
did you not rid me of that pestilence—and yourself of the same man
who has taken so much from you?”

“I could have, my lord…but she begged me
stay my hand, and I did.”

“Surely she does not care for his health.
There was fear in her eyes when I mentioned his name.”

“She is murderously afraid of the man, and
moreso now that she has felt the madness again. But she is a nun—or
meant to be—my liege, and she does not believe in wanton killing.
She…prays for the souls of men of violence. Those such as you and
I.”

Henry gave him an assessing look. “You
stayed your hand at the throat of your deepest enemy because a
woman begged you to? You, Mal Verne—you who have been made a
cuckold, a near-murderer, a laughing-stock by that man?” He
scratched his wiry copper hair, shaking his head. “I would have
rewarded you greatly should you have relieved my kingdom of such a
pestilence.”

Gavin swallowed annoyance at the reminder of
de Belgrume’s sins upon himself: all of them, and, too, the damage
done to his cousin Judith. “Ah, but then you—in your infinite quest
for justice—would have had to throw me in the dungeon for murder,”
he reminded the king.

“Many in the land know de Belgrume is
mad—with all of his talk of finding the secrets of the ancients and
turning metals into gold.”

“Aye. The man has the flame of madness in
his eyes that was not there even six moons ago. He spoke as if he
was doing the Will of God, as if he had some power from the
Almighty behind him,” Gavin replied, his face settling into
soberness. “Many might know he is mad, as you have said, but others
do not believe it, and are tricked into believing his work.” He
didn’t need to mention Nicola or Gregory as two who had fallen to
that trap.

“We know he has been the cause of deaths,
and unnecessary warring in the south,” Henry countered, sloshing
wine into his cup. “And there is more, we suspect—but cannot
prove.”

“Aye. He is a wily man, taking care to
protect himself—else you would have incarcerated him long ago. With
no proof, I would be labeled the murderer of an innocent man.”
Gavin frowned and directed the conversation away from his own
shortcomings and to the purpose which had brought him there.
“Madelyne needs to be protected, or he will try to take her again.
That’s the reason I came back to your presence, your majesty…not to
have my actions questioned yet again.”

Henry raised a brow at Gavin’s tone, but
merely replied, “Ah yes. The fair Madelyne. A source of excellent
revenue for us now…but we will need to find her a husband sooner
than I had wished.” Henry drank deeply, glancing at Gavin sidewise
as he raised the cup. “It could be a possible task for you.”

Gavin froze, then forced himself to breathe
again. “Nay,” he said. “You know I have no wish to wed again. And
in particular, no wish to wed a nun. Do—”

Henry was stroking his moustache vehemently,
his eyebrows raised high. “Gavin, ’tis not like you to jump to such
conclusions. I meant not for you to wed with her. I well know that
Nicola’s infidelity ruined you for any other woman. I meant only
for you to find the best man to be her husband. One who can protect
her from the madman, and one who does not mind wedding with a nun—a
beautiful nun, might I remind you—in exchange for the fiefs that
she will inherit when my lands are rid of Fantin de Belgrume.”

Gavin steadied himself against the heavy
chair that belonged to Eleanor. “Ah.” He felt foolish at his rash
words, then suffocated by the thought that in searching for a
proper husband for Madelyne, he would not yet be freed of her
presence. Yet, he could not naysay the king when Gavin was the one
who’d brought the problem to him. “As you will, my lord.”

“So I leave you with yet another duty, Mal
Verne. Two things I ask of you to take some of the weight from my
burdened shoulders: find a husband for the nun, and rid me of de
Belgrume. Do you not let me learn that he is still here at court! I
will not have that madman slithering about my castle!”

“Aye, your majesty.”

* * *

“Tavis, you have the right of it.” Fantin’s
vision swam pink and damp as he dug each of his ten long
fingernails—with which he used to pluck the strings of his
lute—into his thighs. “I had the girl within my grasp, and Mal
Verne interfered.”

The rage still threatened to erupt within
him, though he’d kept it at a simmer by fasting and praying for
more than a day. Yet, Rufus was not here to lead him in his
pleadings to God…and thus far, he’d received no response, no
acknowledgement from Above. Was God angry with him for failing yet
again?

Nay. He could not believe that. He would not
believe it. He, who had given his life for this quest in the name
of the Lord, would not be forsaken by Him.

“’Twas a great chance you took, entering the
king’s court,” Tavis continued, offering his lord a goblet of wine.
His eyes, round and dark and serious, reminded Fantin of the young
Gregory, who’d also served him thus.

’Twas yet another reason he hated Mal Verne.
Not only had the man had Nicola before Fantin, but Mal Verne had
also taken from Fantin the young man he’d thought of as a
son—slaughtering him in a battle at one of his holdings.

Tavis waxed eager, but he did not have the
cunning and intelligence Gregory had possessed. Had he not been the
betrothed of Mal Verne’s own cousin—Judith—was that her name?
Fantin frowned, trying to recall. It had been so long ago. Nearly
four autumns, and the details of that time remained foggy in his
mind. All he knew was that Gregory had been taken from him. By
Gavin of Mal Verne.

“Aye. None saw me, save Mal Verne and my
daughter…yet, I’ll not risk being seen at court again.” The king
had banned him long ago because of an incident in which Fantin had
tried to gather a cluster of Henry’s own priests to join his holy
quest—yet the king still continued to collect rents and taxes from
him.

Fantin would not suffer long that indignity.
Nay, he would not.

“I’ll leave my man Seton de Masin here, and
also his cohort James of Mangewode to spy upon the workings here,”
Fantin decided. “I must return to Father Rufus, for mayhap he will
have the answer I cannot find.”

“If we return to Tricourten, my lord, how
then will you have your revenge upon Mal Verne?” asked Tavis. “You
know he will be here for some time.”

“Aye. Yet whilst he hides behind the skirts
of the king, you and I shall plan his demise. And keep a watch over
my beloved daughter. Mayhap…”

Fantin thought for a moment, his thoughts
settling into something clearer. The pink had faded. “Aye, ’tis
best. I will stay here for a time—and you with me, Tavis. Instead,
I will send de Masin and Mangewode back to Tricourten with a
message for Rufus. We’ll wait here, in the town, out side of the
court where we shall remain unknown. Thus, news of the king will
reach us more readily, and de Masin can return with communication
from Father Rufus.”

He liked that plan. It felt right. Perchance
God wished him to stay nearby the king and his whore, Eleanor of
Aquitaine. Of all the women on this earth, she—with her sultry
beauty and beckoning smile—had tempted and turned many. She had
divorced her first husband, the king of France, a holier man than
Henry could ever hope to be. The Whore Queen had led women on a
farce of a Crusade to the most Holy of Lands, dressed in breeches
like a man. Rumor had it that she and her uncle had fornicated
whilst she was married to Louis of France….

A bolt like lightning struck him, and Fantin
stilled. The thought shot through him, and his breathing hitched
faster, yet his heart rate slowed. The trembling of his hands
ceased as the surety, the knowledge flowed through him.

’Twas so clear, so perfect, so attuned to
his calling that Fantin knew this would be the final step in his
work.

At last his God had spoken. He understood
why he must stay at court. And how his daughter could be of help to
him. And why he had not managed to seize her yet.

His lips shifted to one side. With one
achingly beautiful act—and in the name of God—he would destroy Mal
Verne and commit the final task in this journey on which he’d been
sent.

And then at last the secret of the Stone
would be made clear to him.

* * *

The stone floor was cold and hard beneath
her knees, and Madelyne shifted yet again to relieve the pressure.
How long she’d been there, in the chapel, she did not know…but the
rays of light that had been a dim moonbeam through the narrow
windows were now strong golden streaks staggering across the uneven
floor.