A Lily on the Heath 4 (21 page)

Mal caught his breath at the lewd image and closed his eyes. Rage and arousal battled within him, and he settled on rage. ’Twas safer.

Judith’s mouth moved into a flat line and she looked back down at the destroyed cheese. “And if I bear the king’s child….” She shook her head. “I would be tied to him—and to her—forever. Hence my fervent prayers.” She waved a hand to the room at large, then lifted the wineskin to drink once more.

When she pulled it away, her full lips glistened deliciously and Mal had to avert his gaze. Even unfed and unrested, even wasting away to skin and bones, even painting repulsive mental images of her in her lover’s bed, she was a gloriously beautiful woman. His desire for her washed over him, so strong and deep he could scarcely draw in a normal breath.
Dog. You are no better than the king.

“’Tis a shame you’ve set your heart on Beatrice of Delbring,” she said, those lips curving in a humorless smile. “Else I should throw myself on your mercy and beg you to wed me and take me from here, and then no one would know if I carry the king’s babe or nay. I would be quit of him and this court.” She dug in the packet and pulled out a corner of the bread. “But, nay. Lady Beatrice’s heart is safe. I would not ask that of you—or any man. For the queen’s wrath would come
 
upon you…and the king’s as well.” She bit her lip and stared down at the crumbling bread. “Henry claims he is quite obsessed with me, and that he shall never tire of my company.”

Mal was very still for a moment, and then his body rushed alive. Hot and cold and filled with hope, fear…and, God help him, lust.
 

“What of de Rigonier?” Mal at last found his voice.

Judith looked at him. Her expression had reverted to despair. “I would not ask it of him either. I fear the king and queen would—”

“Nay,” Mal said impatiently. “That is not my meaning. What of you and de Rigonier?” She shook her head, clearly at a loss. He tried again. “You were no virgin in Henry’s bed…was it de Rigonier?”

Her eyes widened. “Nay, of course not. ’Twas Gregory who took my maidenhead—who had the right to do so, as my betrothed.”

Mal’s tension eased. “You and de Rigonier are not lovers?”

“Nay.” Even in the dim light, the color rising in her cheeks was obvious. “I may now be called whore, but ’tis only that the king has made me thus.”

“I will wed you.”

She stared at him. “Nay, Ma—
Warwick.
Do not be a fool.” Her eyes were wide with consternation and regret. She reached to touch him, her small hand resting on his arm. “’Twas a jest. Only a jest. I would not allow it.”

“Allow it? You?” His laugh rang out, echoing eerily in the small, closed room. Yet, desperation surged through him. To be so close to his desire, to have it within his reach…. He would not allow it to be snatched away. “The king himself has granted me leave to wed where I will. You meet all of the requirements, Lady Judith. I will wed you, and take you from here. And none will know that you carry the king’s babe. I will raise him as my own. And you know I have no aspirations to the throne, nor to such power as a bastard prince would give.”

“Lord Warwick, I cannot….” she began. But she was looking away, down at her fingers twisted and wrapped within her cheese-stained gown. “I could not live, knowing you put yourself at such risk. Nay. We cannot.”

He could not see her face. But he didn’t care. Reason had deserted him. Reason and prudence. “You said it—’tis the only way you might escape your fate. I will manage it all, Judith. And we will wed.”

And even as she hesitated…then nodded, glancing at him briefly then looking away once more, Mal hardly noticed. He was flush, alive, alert, victorious.
 

And if he was no better than the king, at the least he would be entitled to her in his bed in the eyes of God and the Church.

TEN

I will wed you.

Even after Malcolm had gone and Judith was alone, she could not erase those words from her mind. They were the answer to a prayer…a solution of which she’d hardly allowed herself to dream. To be Malcolm of Warwick’s wife.

And yet she could hardly look at him, for fear he’d see the truth in her eyes. How she’d trapped him. Gently, innocently…but entrapped him nevertheless.

Deceitful woman!

I did not intend to lead him that way.
She spoke silently, directing her thoughts to the image above her of the Virgin Mary, who surely thought her an unconscionable wench. And truly, Judith hadn’t been thinking clearly when the words poured from her mouth. She hadn’t considered what it would mean to him, putting himself at odds with not only the queen but the king as well. Nay, they had been foolish, capricious words, half in jest, half in despair…her thoughtless mouth running off on its own, leaving her brain behind once again.

And Malcolm, being the honorable man he was, would never deny the chance to assist a lady in distress. It was his responsibility. And part of what made him a good man…a man she had come to care for far deeply than she realized until now. For though he had offered her everything she wanted, she knew she must not accept it, knowing what it could do to him.

Thus, guilt and relief warred with fear and delight. She could be Malcolm’s
wife
.
 

Nay, I cannot do this to him.
She couldn’t drag him into the mire of her life and affix him alongside her, betwixt the warring faction of queen versus king. He was a powerful lord, a wealthy and important baron—but just as easily, the king could find reason to disseisin him from his lands, to seize Warwick and his other estates. Throw Mal into prison….

Nay, I must not do this to him.
Her belly, tight and empty for so long, felt heavy with the stones of nausea and guilt.
 

Judith felt the cold, hard floor beneath her knees once again as she rose upon them. She clutched the prayer beads so tightly they left marks on her skin. And she prayed for a different way, another answer to her petition.
Show me another path.

Before Mal left the chapel, he warned Judith to say naught to anyone of their plan to wed. Not even to Tabatha. “I must make careful arrangements,” he said, his face intent, his mind clearly working. “So as not to bring the king’s wrath down on us.”

“There is naught you can do,” Judith protested. “He will be furious.”
I tried again
, she cried silently, arguing with her conscience.
I tried to talk him from it, but he would not listen. Foolish, honorable man.
 

Foolish, honorable man with whom she’d fallen in love.
 

Oh, aye. Alone, naked to herself, brutally honest, she must admit the truth. She’d opened the door and forced him to walk through it not only to free her from the bed of the king, but because she wanted Malcolm for herself.

“I will send to Mal Verne,” he told her. “He is your closest relative. Tell me true—will he have any reason to oppose our match?”

“Nay,” Judith replied. “Gavin would be pleased to see me wed. He has no claim to Lilyfare or Kentworth, and he has pressed me to find a husband more than once. And he knows you well, of course.” She could hardly believe they were having such a conversation.
 

“And he is close to the king. I have much to do. Stay you here,” he said almost absently, pressing a firm hand onto her shoulder to stay her from rising. “I will send Father Anselm. The queen cannot tear you from sanctuary—”

“Eleanor will not stand for it,” Judith argued. “She will demand my attendance.”

But Mal shook his head firmly. “She will not dare cross Father Anselm. Not now, not with the unrest rising betwixt her and Henry with Canterbury and the Church. The tension grows, and the rift between them is widening. ’Tis too dangerous for them to cross the archbishop—now. And,” he added with satisfaction, “the archbishop himself was present and witnessed to my writ, granting me the freedom to wed as I might.”

He turned his attention back to Judith. “Do you remain here for this day. You will rest and sleep and eat. I will send Tabatha with a pallet and more food. And you will better be able to face the queen’s demands on the morrow. It will take some time for me to arrange things and I do not wish her to be suspicious or otherwise on her guard, for our wedding must happen quickly before they can stop it.”
 

Darkness crossed his face and his jaw shifted. “As for the king….” Malcolm stopped, his lips compressing, his expression turning deathly cold. “I shall do what I can to keep the king distracted. He will not call for you this night.”

Judith did not respond. Instead, she swallowed the thick lump in her throat and refused to look at him again. Pray God his plan would work. “Very well, my lord Warwick. I will remain here.”

“I will not return,” he said, rising slowly to tower over her. “Nor seek you out. There can be no hint of our plan, Judith. But know that I will make the necessary arrangements. If you need to contact me, send quietly from Tabatha to Nevril.”
 

He turned to leave, then paused, the sole of his boot grinding softly on the stone floor. “Malcolm. I am not Warwick to you, my lady. Only Malcolm.”

~*~

The second day after Judith
and Malcolm spoke in the chapel, her monthly flux began.
 

Her first reaction was one of wild relief and delight. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes and she had never been more thankful for the monthly inconvenience. She would not bear the king’s child after all! And, thanks to Lady Maris’s special tea—which Judith made certain she drank every day—that would likely not change.

But quickly on the heels of this great reversal of bad fortune came a dismaying realization.
 

There was no longer any need for Malcolm to wed her.
 

Ah. Thus and so is my prayer answered…yet again.
 

Now he could be freed of the black muck of her life, and he could go on his way and wed Beatrice of Delbring as he always intended. For it had not escaped Judith’s notice that, despite the wealthy beauties at court and the pressure from herself and the queen to consider other than Lady Beatrice, none seemed to have caught Malcolm’s eye.

I am not Warwick to you. Only Malcolm.

She shook her head.
Nay. He must be Warwick to me again. And I must send word to him.

Judith sat down, suddenly cold.

As it happened, she was in her chamber alone in the midday. The queen, miraculously, had not summoned her this morrow because she and her ladies were meeting with a new fabrics master to pore over bolts and bolts of new materials—silks and fine cottons and even something called gossamer—from Antioch, Cairo, and Jerusalem. The news was that
six
wagons had brought the goods into the castle, and that another three more were imminent. Once, Judith would have been in the midst of such excitement—and delighted to be there. But no longer; the queen wanted her nowhere about during such an event.

Thus, she had the perfect opportunity to send a message to Malcolm. And yet she sat on her stool by the fire, staring into the anemic summer flames. Her lungs and chest felt tight and heavy.
I am still trapped. And he will soon belong to Beatrice of Delbring.
 

Judith was not certain which of her two fates was worse.

A knock on the door brought her wearily to her feet. The sound heralded only bad news as of late and she dragged herself to answer it. What more could happen?

But to Judith’s surprise, Lady Maris stood on the threshold. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Judith replied after a moment of confusion. She stepped away from the door and closed it behind her friend. “I did not know you’d returned.”

“Aye. Only just some short while ago.” Maris’s shrewd green-brown eyes searched her countenance. “What is it? You have been ill. I can see it in your face—you are thin and weary. You are with child, then?” Her voice was grim.

“Nay. Nay, I have just this morn learned I am not with child,” Judith confessed.

“But you are unhappy?” Maris’s tone was neutral, though her expression didn’t quite succeed in matching it.

Judith took a deep breath and then before she could stop them, tears began to flow. All of her weariness, frustration and fear came tumbling out. She told Maris the whole of it—of Eleanor’s punishment of her and Judith’s servitude thus, the intimate details of Henry’s increasing demands, how she was trapped in a never-ending struggle of power between the king and queen…and, finally, of her conversation with Malcolm.

During Judith’s speech, Maris helped her to sit on the bed. She settled next to her, holding her friend’s hands as she listened. Her face betrayed no expression until Judith finished speaking. Then she blinked and said ruefully, “Less than a se’ennight I was gone and all of this has happened. ’Tis glad I am that this court is not my home.”

Judith wiped her eyes and blew her nose, feeling more than a little foolish for her mad torrent of words and tears. “Forgive me, Lady Maris. I had no cause to pile all of my worries on you.” She realized with a stab of fear that she’d done what Malcolm warned her not to do—to tell anyone of their impending marriage. Not that it would matter any longer, but she had betrayed his confidence.
Again my foolish tongue!