A Lily on the Heath 4 (18 page)

The other ladies in waiting were gathered in the chamber, seated on hassocks or chairs, embroidering and gossiping as usual. Some were eating, others had their attention on the queen attempting to amuse her, and Lady Amice plucked at a lute in the corner. Judith smiled briefly at Maris of Ludingdon, who’d arrived only two days earlier with her infant son and had settled in with the court as if she’d never left it. But Eleanor, still slender and quick despite the rounding belly showing beneath her gown, was pacing while gesticulating energetically.

“Judith! What has kept you!” she said as Judith stepped across the threshold. “You are late!”

“My apologies, my lady,” she said, sweeping into a curtsy. She was not late, but one did not argue with the queen, and most particularly when she was in this state of mind. “I brought you a bit of a nosegay to brighten your chambers.”
 

She offered a small bouquet of sweet-scented orange lilies with black and yellow spots, picked at the last minute from the herb garden. Eleanor glanced at the flowers then flapped her hand at one of the pages. “See to them.”

Judith relinquished the nosegay and rose from her curtsy. “How may I serve you this day, my lady? Shall I peel an apple for you? Or mayhap you wish to—”

“Nay, nay,” Eleanor said, still swirling about. Her graceful hands clasped and unclasped in agitation. “I am not hungry.”

“The party who went after the brigands has returned,” Judith suggested. “Mayhap Lady Maris has some news? Was not your husband in the group?” She turned her attention to the other lady, who was one of the more level-headed—if not blunt—women who gathered around the queen.

“I did not know they’ve returned,” said Maris. Her eyes lit with pleasure. “But with her majesty’s permission, I shall take my Rogan to see his papa—and to hear any news.” Before the queen responded, the woman was on her feet, preparing to leave.

“Nay, pray, stay you one moment,” said Eleanor, at last ceasing her incessant pacing. “For there is one thing you may take with you.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Maris said, pausing next to Judith.

“You may take this
lying
, cock-licking, backstabbing
slut
of a
bitch
from my sight!” Eleanor erupted. And before Judith realized what she said, the queen lashed out, striking her sharply across the cheek.

The blow sent Judith reeling as every occupant of the chamber gasped. She nearly tumbled to the floor, bumping into Maris, who caught her as she went off-balance.

“Get out!” shrieked the queen. “Get out of my sight!”
 

Holding a hand to her throbbing cheek, Judith straightened with as much dignity as she could manage. “Your majesty,” she began, looking directly at the queen. Fighting back tears, struggling to keep her voice steady, she said, “Whatever you may think of me, please know I regret hurting you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Get you out of my sight!” Eleanor cried. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes glassy with madness. Her movements were frenetic, near insanity.

“My lady, the babe,” Maris said, turning to the queen. “Have a care for the babe.” She tried to soothe the woman, casting Judith a pointed glance.

Judith turned and, removing her hand—which was wet with blood—from her cheek, walked toward the door. It seemed to take forever; every step seemed to draw her further away from the exit rather than toward it. Her eyes stung, her insides were in turmoil. The ugly gnawing in her belly was back with a vengeance, threatening to empty its contents at any moment.

At last, she was out of the chamber. The doors closed behind her and, stunned, hurt and heartsore, Judith made her way back to her chamber.

~*~

“Oh, my lady!” cried Tabby
when she opened the chamber door and saw Judith’s face. “What has befallen you?”

“The queen,” Judith replied, still fighting to hold back the tears.

“The queen? Wh—” Tabby repeated, then cut off whatever else she was about to say. Instead, she helped her mistress to the stool by the fire. “She found out, didn’t she?” the maid asked quietly. “About the king.”

Judith looked at her in surprise, her misery swelling. “You know?”

Her maid’s eyes, still concerned, flared with indignation. “By the rood, I’m your tiring woman. Of course I know. I’ve known since the beginning. The nights you cried—trying to keep silent. I heard you. I wanted to tell you there was no need to hide it from me, but I didn’t know how. I’m sorry, my lady.”

Judith lost the tenuous hold on her emotions and for the first time since her
affaire
with the king began, she began to sob. Loudly, harshly, with big, choking, gasping sobs. Tabby, bless her, was there next to her. Like an older sister, the maid stroked her hair, even embracing her mistress as she slid off the stool and onto the rug in front of the hearth.
 

“There, my lady,” she said when Judith could cry no more. “I’ll see to your face. And a bath too, aye?”

“I prayed she would never find out,” Judith said. Her throat was raw and her voice gritty, but she lifted her face from where it was buried in her arms. “But ’tis a secret that cannot be kept. I would not have hurt her,” she added fiercely.

“I know, my lady. I know. Damn the king,” she whispered fiercely. “’T may be treason to say so, but damn him.” After a moment, Tabby pulled to her feet. “I will call for a bath. And I must get a paste for your cheek. Was the queen wearing a ring?”

“Aye,” Judith replied dully, reaching to touch the mark on her cheek. It was wet with blood mingled with tears. “She must have been.”

A knock at the chamber door had both women freezing. Tabby looked at her mistress, whose heart ceased pounding for a moment. “Answer it,” Judith said, wiping her eyes. “If ’tis…him….” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Answer it.” Her voice was strong.

But, praise God, it wasn’t the king nor any of his messengers at the door.
 

“Lady Maris,” Judith said, rising from her stool.
 

“If you will allow me, I’ll see to your cheek,” said Maris as she whisked into the chamber. She smacked a kiss on the cheek of her chubby, bright-eyed babe, then thrust him at Tabby. “’Twould be a shame if the queen’s rage left a scar,” she said, moving directly to Judith.

“Have a care,” Judith managed to say as Maris fairly shoved her back down onto the stool. “I do not wish for her wrath to fall upon you as well.”

“Pish,” Maris told her, peering closely at the cut on her cheek. “The queen can have no fault with me. I am Ludingdon’s wife, a close favorite of the king. Aside from that…she does not know I am here.” She smiled grimly.

Judith sat silently as Maris prepared a sweet-smelling paste from dried herbs and a dark aromatic tea. She sensed the other lady wished to talk, or at the least, wished Judith to talk, but she had naught to say. While this was happening, Tabby took the babe Rogan and showed him how to pet the kitten with his pudgy hand. He cooed and laughed, his legs kicking in excitement.

“There,” said Maris a short while later as she finished applying a small piece of clean cloth over the paste. “Your hurts—on the outside, anyway—are tended. Mayhap you have others you wish to speak on?”

Judith bit her lip and shook her head. “Naught, other than I wished never to hurt the queen. But now the worst has come to pass, and I must lie in the bed made for me.” She stood.

“As must we all.” Maris reached into the wooden box from which she’d produced her medicinal herbs. She hesitated, then withdrew a small leather pouch. “I do not know if you have want or need of this,” she said, watching Judith carefully, “but ’tis an herbal powder. If added to warm water and allowed to steep and you drink its tea every day, it will prevent a babe from growing in your belly.”

Judith nearly snatched the bag from her, but caught herself in time. “Truly? Oh, aye, I would…I would be very grateful.” She took the pouch. “But it may be too late,” she added quietly, her hand settling over her belly.

“When came your last flux?”

“At the last full moon.”

The other woman’s face tightened and her eyes grew sober—for they both knew the moon was full this night, and for the next two. “Does your flux come at the appointed time, with the same moon phase each month?”

Judith glanced at Tabby, who’d been watching in open-mouthed interest even as she bounced the gurgling baby on her hip. “Aye.” And she prayed for it to come—not only to prove the king had not planted his seed, but also for rest from his attentions.

Maris’s lips tightened. “Then we shall ere know of that, at the least. Use the tea in the meanwhile, Lady Judith. Each day, drink one cup.”

“I will,” Judith told her fervently. “Thank you for your kindness, Lady Maris. I hope you do not find it to your detriment.”

“I would I could do more,” replied the other woman. Her sharp gaze searched Judith’s eyes as if to read her thoughts. “Sit with me at the evening meal this night, if you will. Your cousin is close friends with my husband. You will find no judgment here.”

~*~

“And so you could not resist
the chance to chase brigands and play with your sword,” Maris told her husband tartly, surveying the damage on his blood-stained
sherte.

“Play is indeed the word,” he replied mildly, plucking at the strings that laced her gown. “And I have other ideas for play in mind as well.”

She danced out of his reach. “Not until I have seen to every inch of you—”

“Every inch?” he asked. “I have some inches for you to see to.” He patted the growing bulge behind his hose, grinning lasciviously.

Maris laughed and cast him a hot, purposeful look that had him lunging for her. She whirled out of reach once more. “But of course, those inches must need special treatment. Very special treatment. But only
after
I’ve peeled the last bit of cloth from your skin. Why do men allow their wounds to bleed into the
sherte
, and then dry thus?” she asked, moving back within range of his randy hands in order to soak the cloth in warm water and pull it carefully away.
 

“Because we do not care, for we know we have sharp-tongued wives to do it for us. Inflicting torture is one of the things they do best,” he said, sliding his hand around to cup her breast. “By God, you are still so full and round,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck.

Maris shivered and sagged against him for a moment, her hand settling over his flat belly, her fingers brushing the top of his hose-covered cock. It had been overlong since they lay together, for the king had called Dirick to him only a month after Rogan’s birth. Now the babe was a half-year old. She had sorely missed her husband, which was why she had made the journey to court.

But there was aught to be seen to before any special treatment so there was no blood over the bedcoverings. And Maris must assure herself there were no serious wounds on the man she loved, for after the injuries she’d tended to in his squire Claude, she feared what Dirick might be hiding beneath his bravado and clothing.

She slipped from his embrace, taking a piece of the
sherte
with her. He winced and glowered as she ripped it from his skin. “Not only do you put me off, but you torture me in the process,” he grumbled.

“Then let us talk of aught else while I see to you—no more distractions. Sally will be back with Rogan soon, and I know he will want to see his papa.”

“Only as long as you promise to give special attention to all of my inches.”

“But of course, my lord,” Maris replied primly. “
Every
inch shall get its due. Now, what do you know of Judith of Kentworth and her liaison with the king?”

“What say you?” Dirick stared at her, his lustful interest shifting to befuddlement. “Where do you hear this rumor?”

She shook her head. “’Tis no rumor. The queen confronted her in the solar this day. ’Twas an ugly scene.”

“Judith of Kentworth. Hair the color of fire? Mal Verne’s cousin?” Dirick repeated. “I would not have believed it.”

“Nor would anyone else. The other ladies were stunned by the revelation. Even Ursula of Tenavaux, who is quite close to Judith, did not know.”

“Not that the king isn’t known for his…appetite,” he mused as she pulled off another cloth-scab. “And she is a comely woman. Ouch!”

Maris grinned. “So sorry, my lord.”

He grumbled again and reached around, firmly grasping her arse with both hands as he pulled her up against him. “You are not sorry in the least.”

“For such a warrior, you are a quite a chicken-heart,” she told him, poking his shoulder. “That would not have even hurt Rogan.” Then, once again disengaging herself from his busy fingers—though ’twas getting more difficult to do—she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “So Lady Judith did not flaunt her relationship with the king. She kept it secret. I wonder how long she has been warming his bed.”

“I do not know, Maris. But what I do know is…someone must needs warm
my
bed. Right
now
.”

And before she could make even a token protest, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed.

NINE