Sanctuary of Roses (23 page)

She looked up, surprised and pleased that he
should ask. “May we go outside? ’Tis been long since I have
breathed the moon air.”

His eyes softened, then crinkled at the
corners. “The moon air. Aye, of course. Let us be off.”

His pace was slower now that they were out
of the hall and away from the people. Gavin brought her through the
entry way and past the guards posted at doors as tall as three men.
Their bodies were closer now, shoulders brushing as they walked—his
stride long and smooth, mismatched against her shorter, faster
one.

Once outside, Madelyne slipped from him and
stood on the hard-packed dirt, turning her face up to the moon. It
was only a sliver on this night, but the stars were many and the
air was chill and crisp after the cloying, food-soaked,
smoke-filled, sweaty space of the great hall. Her lips moved in a
brief, silent prayer—one of thanks and admiration for this moment
of beauty—then she turned back to Gavin.

He was there, arms crossed over his broad
chest, leaning against the shadowy gray stone wall that stretched
above him. He watched her, and her stomach lurched like a rusty
drawbridge.

“What is it you wish to ask of me?” his
voice carried easily to her, even over the sounds of busyness that
surrounded them: the ever-present pages and squires, serfs and
men-at-arms, going about their duties in the bailey.

“I….” She stepped toward him, then stopped.
Something hung there, palpable, yet enough to make her stomach
squeeze again. “Lord Gavin, you said that the king has asked you to
find me a husband.”

“Aye. Please do you not ask of me to disobey
the command of the king. You must know that is the one thing I
cannot—or will not—do for you.”

Her lips tightened. He did not know her at
all. She’d thought that perhaps….ah, she was foolish to think thus.
“I would not ask that of you, Gavin.” Her throat dried as she
realized she’d used his given name.

“Then what is it?” His voice became
rougher.

“’Tis only that I ask that you…have no hurry
to find a husband for me…and that you have a thought to select a
man…who….”

She did not know how to form the words. His
stare was so heavy upon her, so steady, that all coherent thought
disintegrated. She could only look at him, into those penetrating
gray eyes, clear and open there in the starlight. The world receded
and there was nothing but a wide space between them—a space of
dirt, and a more cavernous space of violence and bloodshed versus
peace and hope.

“Who will…?” He sounded annoyed, and he
looked away, breaking the fragile connection. “Who will let you go
back to the abbey? Who will not wish to beget an heir upon you? Who
will what?”

Madelyne stepped back, straightening her
posture. “Who will have some care for me. Who will not hurt me. Who
will not order my every action, my every breath.” She pivoted from
him, stalking away, her hands trembling and her eyes filling with
wetness. She hated that her voice had broken at the end.

“Madelyne.”

She kept walking, ignoring her long skirts
tangling about her feet, blinking rapidly, until the shout above
stopped her.

“Who goes there?”

“’Tis Gavin Mal Verne.” His voice boomed
behind her, up at the guard who looked down from the corner of the
wall that surrounded the bailey. He was close to her now, and she
stopped, turned to him, her face shadowed by the tall wall. She
clutched her light wool skirts, crumpling the fabric up into her
palms to keep her hands still.

“You may pass.” The permission wafted down
from above, but neither Madelyne nor Gavin cared.

“Madelyne—”

“Please.” She held up her hand to him.

“Nay, I will speak.” Anger wavered in his
voice. “Do you think that I would give you to the first man who
asked? To a man who would hurt you? Foolish woman. Have I not done
you enough damage already? At the least I owe you a husband who
will be a better man than your father was.”

He passed a hand over his forehead, as
though to wipe away the ire. “Madelyne, the reason you must wed is
so that you can be safe from your father. He wants to take you
back, and he’ll keep trying—he tried in the wood, during your
travel here, and he tried under the king’s very nose! The king and
I know that he is mad, that some religious fervor burns within him
and he seeks to harm others—mayhap yourself. If naught else, he
will be incensed that you were taken from him some years ago, and
be most unwelcoming to you.

“I will find you a husband only because the
king has ordered it. One who will protect you…who
can
protect you. And one who will be worthy of your lands—which will
come to you when your father is gone. And one who will have some
care for you.”

He stepped toward her, close enough that she
could see the rise and fall of his chest and the movement in his
cheek as he paused in his speech. When he spoke again, the words
softened against her. “I do not believe it will be such a challenge
to find one who will care for you—but more of a challenge to find
the man worthy of keeping your father at bay. You are a lovely
woman, Madelyne, and you will make a fine wife.”

She looked up at him and her heart nearly
stopped when one of his large rough hands came to cup her chin, to
slide slowly over the side of her face and throat. The memory of
the kiss they’d shared blazed into her and she stepped toward him,
into his hand, and felt the firmness of his fingers as they closed
gently around her jaw. They touched her hair, at the back of her
neck, and an amazing shiver coiled around her ear and down the side
of her neck.

“Madelyne, you tempt me so….” he said in a
taut voice, closing his eyes. She did not move, just felt the
trembling of his hand on her jaw, cupping around the nape of her
neck as the rest of the world moved beyond them.

Gavin opened his eyes, and when he did, she
saw a steely resolve glinting there in the moonlight. He dropped
his hand from her face and stepped back. “I apologize if I have
made you uneasy, my lady. I cannot seem to keep myself…in
check…when I am with you.” He gave a little, impersonal bow that
made her want to stamp her foot in frustration.

What was wrong with him—with her—with this
whole situation?

Madelyne drew her brows together and
clutched her skirts with both hands. “Gavin, you’ve done naught for
which you need apologize—at least, tonight, here, now. I may be a
naive, shy woman who is not learned in the ways of the court, but
the barest touch of a man is not about to cause me to turn tail and
hie back to the castle screaming rape. I know to expect much more
than that on the night in which I find myself wedded and
bedded.

“You may escort me to my chambers now, my
lord.” She pushed past him, purposely brushing against his rigid
arm because her patience had been lost and she didn’t understand
why she felt so frustrated and disappointed.

Eighteen

The morning air hung damp with dew and
alight with the risen sun. Gavin breathed deeply as Rule trotted
across the drawbridge toward the forest. Once past the guards at
the entryway, he gave the horse his head and the stallion leapt
into fluid motion.

Hooves pounded and the fresh air blasted
into his face as Gavin urged his mount on. Over a creek and around
the bend of a pathway they flew, startling pheasants and gray hares
from their hideaways. His bow and quiver hung over his shoulder,
but he was not yet ready to put them to use. For now, he needed to
ride…to put distance between himself and Whitehall and all that it
held.

He rode at breakneck speed, but it was not
enough to put the images from his mind. He’d nearly kissed her last
night. He’d wanted to touch her and he had…but it had taken every
bit of restraint to keep himself from pulling her to him and into
his arms.

How could he dream of touching her when he
knew she preferred a life with the Lord…and certainly would not
relish a life with the man who’d taken that right from her.
Madelyne deserved better than a man who lived only to kill, who
dreamed only of violence upon another…who could not fathom a life
without the need for vengeance.

He would never marry again. He’d remain
alone, wreak his punishment upon Fantin, and then retire to Mal
Verne to live until the king would call him to arms again. And thus
and so it would be until he was too reckless and was himself
killed.

And Madelyne….

Gavin pulled back on the reins. Rule trotted
to a halt and they stood, silent and still in the wood that was
devoid of birds singing and the crackle of animal movement. Silent
and still, it surrounded him and closed his thoughts in upon him as
he slipped his fingers into the pouch that carried the rose prayer
beads.

Madelyne would find herself wed anon—as soon
as he could find a suitable husband for her and the king gave his
blessing. She would wed and bed him, as she so bluntly reminded him
last night. Gavin’s heart iced over as the images formed in his
mind: of the apprehension that would be on her face, of large hands
on her pale body, loosening her hair so that it fell to her hips,
of a heavy figure poised over hers…of Madelyne kneeling in abject
prayer on a stone floor—sobbing. His hands trembled on the
reins.

If he did nothing more, he would make
certain to select a man who would be gentle with her—one who would
not destroy her serenity or her peace. One who would have
sensitivity for the woman who would be a nun.

He cursed Henry for burdening him with this
mission.

And then he cursed himself for creating
it.

* * *

“Do you hunt with us on the morrow, Lady
Madelyne?”

“Nay, Lord Reginald. I do not ride,” she
told him. “I had no opportunity to learn at the abbey…and, in
sooth, I do not care for horses. They make me nervous.”

He smiled kindly at her, covering her hand
with his. “Lady Madelyne, I can understand that. Horses can seem
like fearsome creatures…but in truth they are not. They need a
gentle hand and can be as tame as a kitten.”

She looked at him with skepticism. “Aye, as
you say. I will choose to believe you, but will remain admiring
horses only from a distance.”

Reginald chuckled and tightened his fingers
over hers. Madelyne gently pulled away from his grasp under the
guise of raising her goblet to drink. She didn’t know how to feel
about his overt attention, and was even less certain how to act
when he flirted with her.

Lady Artemis sallied over and found a seat
next to Reginald. Madelyne greeted her politely, but held her
breath as she waited to see whether the cat’s claws were extended.
“Good evening, Lord Reginald. We have missed your presence in the
queen’s court as of late. Will you be hunting with us on the
morrow?”

If Madelyne had felt any sort of
possessiveness toward Reginald, she would have felt the hair at her
nape rise as Artemis looped her hand around his arm. As it was, she
took notice, but had no reaction—likely to the other lady’s
dismay.

He glanced at Madelyne. “I have not yet
decided.”

Artemis raised a black eyebrow into a dark
slash. “And you, Lady Madelyne? I should love to see you ride.”

“Nay. I do not ride, Lady Artemis, as you
may have surmised.” Meeting the double-edged comment with
acknowledgement of its slice was her only defense at this time.

“Lord Gavin is a fine rider,” Artemis added
shrewdly. “He is known for his ease in the saddle.”

“Is that so?” Madelyne could not explain why
the mere mention of the man should make her heart pick up speed.
“Then I am sure he will be on the hunt.”

“I am sure he will….” Artemis let her voice
trail off as she looked pointedly across the room.

Madelyne followed her gaze and saw then the
meaning of her words. Gavin sat,
tête-à-tête
, with the woman
named Lady Therese: heads together, and bodies close enough that
their shoulders brushed. As she watched, he tilted his head at
something she said and gave as much of a smile—and a bark of
laughter—as Madelyne had ever witnessed on his stoic face.

Strangely bereft, she turned back to her
companions and smiled, determined to make light of it. “Mayhap he
will have better luck in the wood on the morrow.” Then, suddenly
exhausted, she placed her hands on the table. “I am tired and will
retire to my chambers now.”

Reginald rose immediately and assisted her
to her feet. “Lady Artemis, please excuse us. I will escort Lady
Madelyne to her chambers.”

“Nay, my lord, that will not be necessary,”
Madelyne protested, feeling the heavy weight of Artemis’s stare now
upon her.

“But of course. You cannot traverse this
court without escort, and as your customary guard dog is otherwise
occupied, the pleasure shall fall to me.”

Madelyne acquiesced, only because she was
too weary to argue, and walking alone through the dark warren of
halls did not appeal to her.

Reginald offered her his arm, and she took
it, wrapping her hand around his elbow as she had done with Gavin
the night earlier. Reginald’s shoulder rose a bit higher than
Gavin’s had, and his forearm was less bulky and warm, Madelyne
noticed as they made their way down the halls. She took care that
their bodies did not touch as they walked, and noticed that his
stride stayed in check so that she nearly matched his steps.

When they reached her chamber door, she was
surprised to find Jube still in attendance. “Good evening, Jube,”
she said with a nod. “I bethought to see Rohan here by now.”

Jube bowed from his immensely tall height
and responded, “He should arrive anon.” His attention flickered to
Reginald. “Where is Lord Gavin?”

“He remains in the hall,” replied Madelyne
lightly. “Lord Reginald kindly offered to see me here in his
stead.”

She began to open the door, but Reginald
gently stopped her. With a glance at Jube, he said quietly, “My
lady, ’tis unseemly that I should enter your chamber alone with
you…but ’tis near impossible to have a private conversation with
this giant hovering nearby.”