Sanctuary of Roses

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.

Her beads were a comfort in her hands, but there was little else to bring her ease. All that lay before her was the darkness of unknowing, uncertainty, and fear.

“Dear Father,” she prayed again, as she had so many times those last hours, “I wish only to do Your will…to live to serve You. I place my life in Your hands…I ask that you show me forgiveness for failing You and the vows I have made to You… ”

Madelyne’s voice trailed as despair and fatigue overcame her. Now, as had been the case for hours, there was no lifting of response in her breast…no certainty that her prayers had been heard…no fulfillment of knowing that her life was strong and had meaning.

Had God turned from her, knowing that she’d failed to abide by the vows she’d meant to make? Or was this a test, challenge for her to overcome. And at the end of the challenge, should she meet it, would there be the comfort of knowing that she’d done His will—whatever it would be?

Could it be that He wished for her to wed? To love a man and wed with him?

A faint scuffle reached her ears, and a booted foot stepped into the realm of her downcast vision. She raised her head without hurry, swallowing the first innate fear that it was her father, and looked into the slightly shadowed face of a man too slim to be Gavin Mal Verne.

“Lord Reginald,” she said, tempering the surprise she felt. “Do you come here to pray?” As he extended his hand, she accepted it and allowed him to assist her to stand.

He smiled, a soft quirk of tenderness. “Nay, my lady, I but came in search of you. Your maid directed me to you here…she lamented that your absence had been noted but that she had a fear of leaving the chambers to come in search of you.”

Madelyne raised her brows in surprise. “Tricky had a fear of leaving the chamber?”

“A large, burly man had been posted out side of the door,” Reginald told her, slipping her hand smoothly into the crook of his arm. “’Twas only because your maid had sent for me that I gained audience with her. She called him Clem, and he allowed me to speak briefly with her.”

“My maid sent for you?” Madelyne felt a flush rise over her cheeks and pulled her arm from his, clasping her hands in front of her abdomen. Whatever Tricky’s purpose in doing such a bold thing, she would receive a tongue lashing from Madelyne at the first opportunity. Such a transgression was not to be tolerated, even from the sunny-faced Tricky. “Please accept my apologies, Lord Reginald, for my maid’s interference—”

“Nay! ’Twas no fault of hers. She but responded to a missive I sent when I did not see you at supper last evening.” His smile was gentle and friendly. “I merely missed your presence and wished to have the opportunity to walk with you in the garden betimes.”

Disconcert flitted through her, and Madelyne did not know where to look—anywhere but into the warm, searching blue eyes. “Lord Reginald, I—”

“Forgive me, lady, but you are finished with your novena? I should have asked you first—I have no wish to disturb your prayers.”

She allowed a small smile at his concern. “Aye, I have made my petitions many times…whether they will be heard begs yet to be known.” Her smile faded, and she felt for the prayer beads that hung from the kirtle around her waist.

“Surely you are hungry. Your maid appeared to be much concerned about your lengthy absence, bewailing that you had not broken your fast.” Now he took her arm again, and pulled it into the warmth of his elbow. “Please, let me help you to find something to eat.”

“My thanks, Lord Reginald, but in truth, I have no wish for food. I fast today.”

“And my thanks to you, D’Orrais, as well.”

The deep voice coming from the shadows of the chapel caused Madelyne’s heart to surge into her throat, where it settled, thumping with fervor. “Gav—Lord Mal Verne,” she said, turning toward him, pulling her hand again from Lord Reginald’s arm.

Mal Verne came forward, and she saw from his stony face that he was angered. When he spoke, however, his words were simple and even. “I do thank you, D’Orrais,” he said again, “for seeing to Lady Madelyne’s safety. ’Though she is under the protection of the king—and myself—” he spared a quick, meaningful glance at her, “she appears to need some direction to cease wandering through the keep of her own volition.”

Lord Reginald nodded his blond head briefly, glancing at Madelyne as though to assure himself it was permissible to leave her with Gavin. “I didn’t know that the king had a special interest in Lady Madelyne.”

Gavin’s eyes were steady and cold. “Aye, the king and myself have great interest in her well-being…and, as well, there are other parties who have interest only in her non-well-being. I thus warn you that she will be well-guarded until such time as a permanent protector is chosen for her.”

Now, he turned to look fully at Madelyne and his words were for her. “Have you finished your prayers, my lady? If not, I beg that you will complete them in the privacy and safety of your chamber. Come with me.” Gavin did not wait for her assent. He grasped her wrist—albeit gently—and she had no choice but to allow him to direct her to the place he wished her to go.

That place was outside of the chapel, outside where the sun blazed down and serfs, knights, tradesmen, and pages hurried about their business in the large bailey of Whitehall. Madelyne blinked rapidly as her eyes watered, adjusting to the brightness. She stumbled as Gavin gently pulled her across the trampled ground. He didn’t stop, nor did he speak to her—or to anyone else—until they re-entered the keep. He guided her along the halls until they reached a private alcove, where he gestured for her to take a seat.

“Surely you did not mean to seek me out in the chapel, and interrupt my prayers to bring me here?” Madelyne asked, sitting on a wooden bench. A tapestry hung on the wall above her head, depicting King Henry’s coat of arms.

“Nay, I didn’t know you were in the chapel. Foolish woman. Again that you should be unprotected so soon after your father’s attack upon you yesterday. Until I received word from Clem that you had been gone since last eventide, and that your maid had sent D’Orrais in search of you, I didn’t realize you’d gone missing.” His face had hardened with annoyance. He appeared prepared to continue, but Madelyne thought it timely to interrupt before any passersby might hear his angry words.

“I do not fear harm when in a chapel, and in the presence of God,” she told him, smoothing her skirt, noticing the dirt that stained where she’d knelt in the sacristy. “Aside of that, and more practically, the priest was present during my entire stay, leaving just before Lord Reginald arrived. Surely you do not believe I would be that foolish, Lord Gavin?”

“I’m relieved to learn that you weren’t alone,” Gavin replied. “But I must reiterate again that it is not safe for you to wander about alone, or to be alone anywhere in this court. Even in a holy place. Your father is here—unbeknownst to the king—and he is a dangerous and desperate man. I cannot continue to protect you if you do not take care.”

Madelyne looked directly into his eyes. “I have seen the king, he has taken from me my freedom and my desire to devote my life to God, and thus you no longer have reason to have concern for my person, Lord Mal Verne.”

“I have been instructed to find you a husband, my lady,” Gavin told her in a harsh voice.

Madelyne’s gaze flashed to his face at this announcement, but he wasn’t looking at her. “You are to choose my husband?” she echoed. “What special talent have you that you should be thus privileged?”

“The king has ordered it of me—-that is the talent that I have,” he responded, his words softer now, and his gaze returning to her face. “Until then, I will keep you safe—and help you find your way and comfort here at court, now that you, as you have so aptly described, lost your freedom.” He thrust a hand into his thick hair, yanking his fingers viciously through so that it stood wildly about his head, making him look even more formidable. His annoyance seemed to evaporate with this gesture, and his next words gentled. “My lady, for the loss of your freedom and the disruption of your vows, I am truly sorry. ’Twas never my intention to place you in such a position.”

She considered him for a moment.

To her surprise, she was not angry. Nay, she’d come to accept it—and him—after this night of prayer and day of fasting. Nay, she was no longer angry with him. But disappointed, sad, and disconcerted—and frustrated with the futility of her position and the loss of her freedom.

“I accept your apology, Lord Mal Verne. Yet my acceptance is with the knowledge that, though you regret my inconvenience, if you had the choice to make again, you would make the same decision.” He began to speak, and she raised a slim white hand to stop him. “Prithee. ’Tis the man you are, Gavin, and there is naught I or anyone could do to alter that.”

“And what kind of man is that?” he snapped.

“A man of honor, of right, of vengeance…and, aye, of blood… That is the kind of man you are. And the man you will ever be. Just as I,” she sighed, and looked down at her trembling fingers, “…I will ever be a daughter of madness, of despair, and one destined to seek peace and serenity—all the while fighting to keep those selfsame tendencies from my blood.”

“Madelyne… ” He reached for her, then his hand dropped. “Aye. You have the right of it, my lady. You may not be schooled in the ways of politics or court, but you are a woman far too wise in the ways of men.”