Lord of My Heart (22 page)

Had he chosen it carelessly, or had it expressed the thoughts of his heart? It seemed to echo hers. They were both, in different ways, cut off from their pasts and alone. She read on through the sad story of a man torn from his place, his loved ones, and his world.

Madeleine grieved for that lost England, for with it into the mists of history had gone her own chance of happiness. It was Aimery de Gaillard’s allegiance to the past which stood between them, and she could not follow the poet and resign herself to the workings of fate.

Tears ran down her cheeks. One day, she supposed, she would be old and shriveled, and all this would seem childish folly. But now, ah now, it hurt like the cleansing fluid she had poured into Aimery’s wound.

“There’s a man here saying the king wants to speak with you, my lady.”

Madeleine shook off sleep and slipped into her kirtle. What trick was he going to try now? “In his chamber?”

“Nay. In the stables.”

Madeleine frowned. “In the stables? Why?”

“How would I know?” asked the woman testily. “A knight shook me awake and told me to wake you and send you to speak with the king in the stables.”

The horses, Madeleine thought muzzily. Was there some dreadful disease? But the king would not be there to handle such matters. Thoughts of Odo’s attack returned. Would someone, anyone, try such a trick? “Who was the knight?” she asked.

“I don’t know his name, but he’s one of them.” Dorothy caught Madeleine’s suspicions. “I’ll come with you, my lady. But let’s go. If it is him, you can’t keep the king waiting.”

They slipped out a side door to avoid the crowded hall, and Madeleine found herself in a strange place. In the gray-washed light of pre-dawn nothing in the bailey seemed familiar. She stumbled over a bale left on the ground and muttered a curse. A second later she heard Dorothy repeat her actions. As her eyes adjusted she thought she saw shapes which could be sleeping men.

She supposed quite a few preferred a spot out here to a cramped corner in the hall.

She made her way toward the stables carefully, watching each step. The only sounds were quiet voices from the guards on the earthworks and the screech of some night animal become prey.

Jerked from sleep, her body was chilled and trembling even though the night was warm. She felt all the uneasiness natural to this dead time of night when spirits roamed, and in addition she feared something was about to happen which would not work to her advantage. She was immensely relieved to have Dorothy stumbling along beside her.

As she came close to the long huts which formed the stables, she heard the soft movements of horses. Then she heard voices and saw the dim glow of a lanthorn. She relaxed. Whatever the problem, it was not a secret trap.

She turned to Dorothy. “I think it’s all right,” she murmured, “but the king must wish to speak with me privately. You stay here.”

The wide doors to the wooden building stood open, and she entered slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the different light. The lanthorn was hung in a far stall, set low so all she saw was its reflected light. The voices came from there, a quiet murmur between two people, she thought.

She walked closer and was about to announce her presence when someone gasped, “Oh, Lord Stephen!” She heard Stephen’s sensuous chuckle.

Madeleine froze, knowing then what was going on and what trick the king had played. Did he really believe this would change her mind? She turned to leave. As Aimery de Gaillard had pointed out, none of her suitors were virgins.

But what a way to start a wedding day.

She heard Stephen’s voice again. “Come on. That’s it. Very nice ...”

Madeleine had taken two cautious steps away—the last thing she wanted was to be caught in this place—when there was a sharp cry and the words, “Don’t! I don’t want—” instantly muffled.

Madeleine froze. Rape?

Stephen murmured, “You’ll like it. Relax. It won’t hurt. Come on, my angel. Don’t fight the big strong Norman knight . . .”

My angel.
She felt sick. Would he call Madeleine that in their marriage bed? She wanted to flee, but she couldn’t turn her back on a rape. But could she bear to walk in and interfere when in a few hours she was going to have to marry this man? She wavered, then the sounds changed to gasps and grunts.

Mating? Or struggling?

Swallowing, she crept forward, skirts raised so they would not brush against the straw. When she reached the stall, she peeped cautiously over the boards, prepared to take the quickest look and then leave.

She looked.

She stared, unable to take in what she was seeing.

Two half-naked bodies, but there was something wrong. They were wrong way around. Stephen was . . . Madeleine’s mouth fell open. Stephen’s partner was a man, a youth rather. One of the stable boys.

She backed away, only to kick a wooden bucket next to her foot. She froze, not even breathing. Stephen let out a gasping cry. He rolled the flushed and heavy-lidded lad over and put his mouth—

Madeleine gathered her skirt up high, checked her footing, and fled. Outside, she grabbed a startled Dorothy and dragged her behind the pigsty, out of sight, signaling wildly to the astonished woman not to make a sound.

A few minutes passed and nothing occurred. Perhaps Stephen didn’t care who saw him. Perhaps he was blind and deaf when he was . . .

Madeleine tried to pull her wits together. She had heard of such practices but never quite believed it.

“Lady Madeleine,” Dorothy whispered, “what on earth is it? Was it a trick? Are you hurt?”

“A trick? Yes, a trick. Oh, Dorothy. What am I to do now?”

“Are you hurt?”

Madeleine felt as if she’d been tortured, but she said, “No. No. And we must go back to our room!” But she clung to Dorothy and trembled as they crept back across the bailey. When she reached her room again she said, “Please, Dorothy, go to the kitchen and bring me some mead. I need something.”

The woman patted her shoulder anxiously and hurried off. Madeleine pressed her hands to her face briefly, then slipped through the curtain into her room.

A shadow moved.

Her scream was cut off by a hard hand.

“Be quiet,” said Aimery de Gaillard, and slowly let her go.

Madeleine stared at a gray shape she could scarcely distinguish. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I heard you running across the bailey. What are you up to?”

Madeleine wanted him to hold her, to rescue her again from an intolerable situation, but his tone was suspicious, not concerned. She hugged herself in despair. “Nothing. Go away. I’m safe.”

“Obviously. Why were you creeping about?”

“The king sent for me. Go away!”

“The king wasn’t in the stables.”

“No.”

He stood in silence. “It was a trick? To turn you off Stephen no doubt. What did you see? Him with a lover? I told you we’re none of us saints.”

Madeleine turned away from him and put her hands to her face. “Go away. Please!”

She heard footsteps. He turned her back and pulled her hands down. She couldn’t help it. She swayed to rest against his broad chest. His arms came around her for a precious moment before he pushed her away. “Stephen is no worse than the rest of us.”

Madeleine started to laugh hysterically. He hit her, sharp and hard. She put her hand to her stinging cheek.

A hand brushed against hers, as soft as a breeze, apologetically, then was gone. “Remember your promise,” he said. Then he, too, was gone.

Dorothy bustled in with a candle and a tankard. “What is it?” she gasped and hurried over. She looked at Madeleine with horror. “Who hit you? The king in the stables?”

Madeleine felt numb, hopeless. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She walked over to her medicine chest and took out some poppy syrup. She poured it liberally into the drink. She wouldn’t much care if she never woke up.

But after Madeleine had taken one long swig, Dorothy grabbed the tankard and poured the rest on the floor. She pushed Madeleine onto her bed and covered her. “Sleep. Things are never as bad in the morning.”

Madeleine laughed at that, then cried herself to sleep.

“And that’s a wicked sin,” said Dorothy in a fine fret. “Come on, my lady. The king’s already calling for you. You don’t have much time.”

“I have all the time in the world,” said Madeleine fatalistically. “I am not going out there. I am not going to marry anyone.”

Dorothy paled. “Because of last night?” she asked. “Because of that blow? It’s gone. It can’t have been a hard blow. There’s always blows between man and woman, but a tap like that’s nothing to fret over. Come along, do. Wash your face. I have your finest clothes laid out.”

Madeleine felt strangely calm and found all this fussing unnecessary. “I can’t marry any of them,” she explained. “It’s absolutely impossible. I suppose I’ll have to go back to the convent, but that won’t be so bad.”

Dorothy threw up her hands and scurried from the room. In a few moments she was back with Count Guy de Gaillard, looking magnificent in a long gown of cream linen, finely worked. With a gesture he dismissed the woman.

“What is all this, demoiselle?” he asked gently.

Madeleine looked at him. “Your son hit me.”

A brow twitched, but he merely said, “Then marry Stephen, but don’t think he won’t raise his hand to you.”

Madeleine just shook her head.

“Odo de Pouissey?” Count Guy queried.

Madeleine shook her head again.

“You are going to marry Aimery?” said the count, surprised but pleased.

“I’m not going to marry any of them,” explained Madeleine. “The king will just have to provide another batch or send me back to the Abbaye. I think I prefer the latter.”

Count Guy strode forward and sat down on her bed. When she tried to look away, he took her chin in a hard grip so that she was forced to face his green eyes. “Enough of this. You gained the privilege of a choice. You will make it. The king has no desire to have you take the veil and no more time to waste on your silly dithers.”

She tried to pull free, and he raised his hand. “I am not averse to hitting you either, demoiselle.” Madeleine saw he was speaking the plain truth.

“The king just wants me to marry your son,” she spat.

“Then it might occur to you to do as your sovereign wishes. But he has given you your choice and he will not rescind it. Use it.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, tears beginning to trickle.

He flipped her over and landed a full-power blow on her behind. Madeleine let out a cry and lay there stunned, rubbing the sting. She rolled over and looked up at his stern face.

“I am under orders to bring you out, decision made, within the hour, Lady Madeleine. And
I
follow my monarch’s orders. That is a taste, but if we are to settle for beating sense into you, I’ll call for a switch and save my hand.”

“Aimery doesn’t want to marry me,” she protested.

“If he refuses, I’ll beat him into reason, too. Now, do I send for a switch or do you dress and come out to your betrothal?”

He was like rock. She knew he would do just as he said and would beat her bloody if necessary on the orders of the king. And he was right in one thing. She did have a duty to the king. “You must be a horrible father,” she muttered as she rose from the bed and winced.

“If you become my daughter, you may discuss the subject at length with my other children.” He went to the doorway and summoned Dorothy, who bustled in anxiously.

“She is ready,” he said. He turned his back to Madeleine. “If you are not in the hall shortly I will return, armed.”

Dorothy’s eyes widened as she looked between them.

“I will be there,” Madeleine said grimly. “Just remember in the future that this was your doing.”

He didn’t look daunted and smiled before he left.