Читать книгу The King's Mistress - Terri Brisbin - Страница 13

’Twas luck alone that his hand was already offered to her, for Orrick knew that she would have stumbled or, even worse, fallen at the king’s words. Everyone on the dais could see the blood draining from her face at his order to begin. For a moment, he even thought she would faint. Now he prayed that her shocked condition would continue through the ceremony, for her legendary biting tongue and fierce temper would not help matters.

Confusion and disbelief filled her blue eyes as he guided her forward. He repeated the bishop’s words sealing their marriage and squeezed her hand when her words were needed. Like a trained animal, she stuttered out the vows required. She trembled beneath his hand and he slid his arm around her waist to keep her standing.

Part of him wanted to chastise her for not heeding his words of warning. Part of him wanted to turn and walk away from this devil’s bargain. But the duty-bound part within him kept him at her side and even helped her to kneel to receive the bishop’s blessing as they were pronounced husband and wife to Henry’s court.

Whispers tittered behind them as the crowd knew not how to respond. Orrick stood and drew Marguerite up as the king also now stood once more. Henry clapped loudly and called out to his courtiers.

“Huzzah! Huzzah!” Henry shouted.

The cheering and clapping increased now and was loud enough to gain Marguerite’s attention. Orrick knew he would have to get her away from the king and this crowd quickly to preserve any remaining dignity for himself or her. Motioning to his mother, he introduced Marguerite formally and then asked his mother to stay with his new wife. He must speak to the king and gain permission to leave. Orrick had no desire to stay and subject his family to the farce of a bedding or the morning-after fiasco.

He approached the king and asked for a moment in private and then followed Henry to an alcove in the corridor outside the hall. This would be a tricky conversation between king and vassal, between the lover and the husband of the same woman.

“Sire,” he said, bowing his head to Henry, “my thanks for your attention to this matter.” Henry surprised him by laughing out loud at his words.

“You may not be grateful once the lady regains her ability to speak.”

Orrick held his own tongue rather than express his thoughts. His only intention was to save his family and his wife from the open ridicule that would occur if either of them lost control in front of the court.

“I do wish to ask your permission to leave Woodstock now.”

“Now, Orrick? And not stay for the feast I ordered to mark the occasion?”

He hesitated, not certain of how to answer, but then he decided that the direct method was the correct way to approach this personal matter. He dragged his hand through his hair and let out his breath. The only way was man to man.

“Your Grace, we both know the truth of this situation. We both know of your relationship with Marguerite. We both know why you arranged this marriage between the lady and me. There is no need to drag out the public display any longer. All who witnessed the ceremony know and understand the message you gave.”

Henry’s face turned red and Orrick feared he had spoken too bluntly. “Think you so?” Orrick nodded. “And what, pray thee, was my message?”

“That you are king and your will shall be done.”

His diplomatic way of saying that the king would punish any who overstepped their place in his world must have worked, for Henry’s eyes lost their angry glare.

“Your party may leave at will, Orrick,” the king said as he turned to walk away. “One day you may thank me for the gift I give you now.”

Thinking the king referred to his granting permission for them to leave and not face the continued embarrassment of a wedding feast and bedding, Orrick bowed to Henry and followed back into the hall. Approaching his retainers, he gave orders for their departure as soon as arrangements could be completed. Then he faced his bigger challenge. Marguerite.

She stood nigh to completely still, except he noticed that her hands shook in spite of the way she clasped them in front of her. The pale shade of her complexion was unusually gray and the blankness in her gaze told him all he needed to know. Nodding to his mother, who thankfully did his bidding without question, he escorted his new wife from the hall and back to her chambers.

Marguerite did not move from the place where he stopped and neither did she look at him as he called out orders to the servants there. If she knew what was going on around her, she gave no indication. In a way, he was grateful for this shock that enclosed her in its grasp. He had much to accomplish before they could leave Woodstock and the prying eyes of the court and king. Orrick wanted to put as much distance and time between them before resting his head for sleep.

“Mother,” he called out, “would you see that Lady Marguerite’s belongings are moved to our wagons? She should be packed for the most part already.”

His mother moved into the room and began to organize the servants’ activities. And still Marguerite stood in the middle of it, looking neither left nor right. Pity for her filled his soul. He could only imagine what it felt like to be so wrong about someone and to discover that truth in front of so many others who awaited your betrayal and downfall.

“Marguerite,” he said in a low voice to her. “Marguerite, do you have a maid who will travel with you to Silloth?”

She said nothing and he was about to shake her to gain her attention when a young woman came to his side and curtsied.

“My lord, I am Edmee, the lady’s maid. I will travel with her.”

“Help your lady change into something that can withstand traveling and be ready in half an hour.”

“Yes, my lord,” Edmee answered. Before she could step away, Orrick reached out and stopped her.

“Do you speak English?”

“Nay, my lord. Only Norman and French, my lord.”

“Prepare your lady now.”

Orrick shook his head—another problem. His people, other than his mother and her few ladies, spoke English and a smattering of other local tongues like Gaelic. Was English one of the languages Marguerite spoke? Surely it was.

There was no time to spend fretting over these minor details and so, confident that his orders were being followed here among the women, he returned to his own chambers and found his men efficiently preparing for their trip. Within an hour, his group was on its way out of Woodstock and toward northern England and his home.

If Orrick had known the problems he would face on the road, he might have delayed leaving after all. The weather conspired against them, slowing their progress with days on end of rain and wind. Although the hospitality of local lords was extended to them, his party was unable to travel quickly due to his wife’s condition. His wife.

Marguerite had not stirred from her befuddled state since their departure from Woodstock. His mother reported that she barely ate or drank at all, and spoke not a word to anyone, including the young maid Edmee. The lady cooperated and followed instructions, but did not do anything more than was asked of her.

Orrick stood from where he’d broken his fast and considered what could be done for the severe melancholia that had beset Marguerite. Although certain that the surprise of the wedding being accomplished and the realization of her situation caused it, he was also sure that the rigors of the road were worsening it. Now, with less than a day’s travel left, he felt a small measure of relief and hopefulness that once they arrived in Silloth and once the lady had a chance to accustom herself to her new life, it would all work out. Orrick also knew that, if needed, the village healer was accomplished in her skills.

At his orders, the lady was escorted to him and he helped her mount. His hands slid along from her waist to her ribs and he noticed the change in her form. Taking his place on his horse next to her, he guided hers as they made their way on the road west.

He called on his long-unused skills at diplomacy and court behavior and tried to engage her in conversation. His attempts were unsuccessful. He asked her questions about her family and tried to elicit some information from her about her life in Normandy. He failed. Even his efforts to describe Silloth and his lands and people met with no change in her empty expression.

Still, Orrick talked about what she would see, those she would meet and what was expected of her as lady of Silloth. He hoped some of it would seep through and she would gain some information from it that she could use on her arrival.

Passing by Abbeytown, Orrick rode straight for home. It was just before sunset that their group reached the village outside the keep. The enthusiastic greetings of his people made him smile. He had not realized how uncomfortable he’d been in Henry’s court until he caught sight of the open gates of his home. He urged his mount faster and soon they were before the steps into the keep. A glance at Marguerite revealed a gaze that was no longer empty. Now it was filled with horror and she looked around her and back at him.

Before he could dismount to help her, someone pushed through the gathering crowd and reached her first. Orrick did not react fast enough to reach her first. The tall, Scottish warrior lifted Marguerite from the back of her horse as though she were a child and held her out in front of him as he examined her from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.

Orrick leaped from his horse and stepped over to his friend’s side. “Gavin, put her down.”

“She doesna look very sturdy, Orrick. Are you sure she’s the right one?” His pain-in-the-arse foster brother’s evil grin told him that Gavin was enjoying the mischief he was causing. But the expression on Marguerite’s face, now gray with fear, concerned him more.

“Lady Marguerite has had a difficult journey, as have we all. Put her down so that I might escort her to the chambers.”

Gavin did lower her to her feet, but her legs gave out as she tried to stand. Instead of giving way to him, Gavin scooped her up in his arms and turned to Orrick. Marguerite pushed herself as far from her rescuer as she could manage and then did the most unexpected thing.

With a strength that belied her frail condition and petite size, his wife let out a scream that had most of those witnessing the scene grimacing in pain from its loudness and shrillness. Gavin, the instigator of this mess, did not shrink back from it at all. Indeed, he laughed out loud, nearly losing his hold on Marguerite as his body shook with the force of it.

Orrick stepped closer to try to soothe her, but her screams ended on a strangled cry and, as he watched, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head as she fainted.

“Mayhap she has a bit of pluck after all, Orrick,” Gavin said as he handed the lady over to him. “She’ll do.”

“You misbegotten cur of a—” Orrick began in a furious whisper.

“Hold your tongue, friend. I wanted only to welcome your wife to your home.”

“Damn you, Gavin. If that had been your intent, you would not have caused this fiasco in front of the entire village.”

Wasting no more time berating his friend, Orrick climbed the steps into the keep, calling out for his wife’s maid to follow and giving his own instructions as he went. By the time he’d reached the room adjoining his own, servants followed, bringing hot water, the lady’s trunks and food and drink. Orrick laid her on the bed and stepped back so that her maid could attend her.

Exhaustion of body, mind and spirit was overtaking him, as well. Now that they were home, this could all be sorted out. Obstacles that seemed so large on the road would be conquerable now. Orrick turned, deciding that everyone needed some time to rest and refresh themselves.

His steward and his mother waited in the corridor outside the chamber and neither looked pleased. He would hear his mother’s concern first then deal with his steward.

Leaning toward her, he asked her quietly, “What is it, Mother?”

Her answer, in a like tone, could have been shouted at him for the force it carried. “Is she carrying the king’s bastard?”

Orrick reeled back as though struck and he turned back to see Marguerite still prostrate and unmoving on the bed. ’Twas one scenario he had not thought of. Leave it to his mother to come up with it. Well, the truth of her condition would be known with her first menses or with its absence, so he may as well ask his mother now.

“Did she bleed on the trip here?” Orrick rubbed his forehead against the growing pain there. His mother’s tight-lipped grimace gave her answer. “I suppose that we must wait to discover that, then.”

His mother began to turn away, but with a hand on her arm, Orrick stopped her. Looking at one then the other, he commanded, “Say nothing of that suspicion to anyone here. If word gets out that she is breeding, I will know from whence it came.”

He released Lady Constance’s hand and held her gaze, waiting for her acceptance of his order. When she nodded, he added, “I suspect that the long journey has simply exhausted all of us and, with some good food and rest, we will all regain our senses.”

Both his mother and Norwyn, his steward, nodded again and began to leave, but there was one more thing he needed first.

“Lady Marguerite’s maid speaks no English. Can you find someone to help her? Her name is Edmee.”

“Doesn’t Marguerite speak it?” his mother asked.

“I fear I did not ask her that question when last we spoke. ’Twas not a concern of mine then. Now I suspect that it is not in Marguerite’s temperament to teach her servant even if she knows the language.”

“None of my ladies will play servant to a servant, Orrick. You must know that.”

The pounding between his ears increased and he was certain that his jaw would lock in the clenched position in which he held it for so long. His control was at an end, and just as he took a breath and prepared to let his displeasure show, Gerard spoke from the shadows.

“My lord, I could teach the maid.”

Orrick thought on this offer and realized that it was the only way, at least for now. “Fine, Gerard. Show her what she needs to know about the keep and teach her some of our words. Norwyn, she will need additional help, as well. Assign—”

Norwyn waved his hand at Orrick. “Already done, my lord. The chambers were made ready and servants were assigned to see to the rooms and to the lady.”

“Fine, then. I need—”

“In your chambers, my lord. Wine and food for you,” Norwyn answered. “Hot water for a bath is on the boil and will be ready shortly. And when you are ready, we can review my notes and your orders about the estate.”

He could not fault Norwyn for his thoroughness. The man had learned at his father’s knee about the duties of being steward and, although still new to the position here, Orrick had found him to be more than competent and resourceful in managing the keep, village and lands of Silloth. Surely the man could hold things together for a short while longer while Orrick bathed and ate.

Back in his chambers, after removing his mail, peeling the sweaty tunic and stockings from his body and sinking into the steaming bath that awaited him, Orrick waved away his servants. As he slid into the soothing heat, he wondered if anything about this marriage would ever work.