Sanctuary of Roses (26 page)

D’Orrais. The man might be plying suit for
her hand, but it had not yet been granted to him, and he presumed
overmuch. Gavin clenched his fist and wheeled back into the garden,
setting his teeth in line so hard his jaw hurt.

He would remind Madelyne that she was not
yet betrothed and that sitting in the garden unchaperoned would
only lead to damaging rumors about herself. She was not accustomed
to court life, and could not realize that such simple actions were
often the cause of much destruction.

Gavin fed his anger thus, stalking toward
the corner of the garden where the pear tree grew.

He came around the bush into a full view of
Madelyne and Reginald D’Orrais. They were in an intimate
embrace.

Twenty

When Reginald’s lips covered hers, Madelyne
stilled. She neither moved closer nor further from the man whose
arms slid around her shoulders, and whose mouth pressed to
hers.

’Twas a soft kiss—nothing like the one she’d
shared with Gavin in the wood—and Madelyne felt as though she
waited for something more to happen. It did. Reginald pulled her
closer to him and fitted his mouth more tightly to hers, angling
his head and drawing her face toward him.

Warmth trickled through her and she allowed
her hand to reach tentatively to touch his shoulder. It was
pleasant, she thought dimly. Neither frightening nor disturbing,
she realized with relief. He would be her husband, and it did not
alarm her when he kissed her. Nor did it cause her veins to jump
and her body to soften into a mass of warmth as Gavin’s kiss had
done.

Their wedding night would be different, she
knew, with much more than a gentle kiss to occur. Would she feel
the same…
nothing
then, or would Reginald’s touch make her
limbs feel light and her skin jump?

She vaguely noticed that Reginald’s fingers
brushed the side of her face as he pulled slowly away. “Madelyne,”
he whispered, “I would that you are mine.”

Then he drew her to him, more forcefully
this time, his mouth plastering against hers so fiercely that her
breath caught. Her heart raced now, as she tried to assimilate this
new experience, and determine how she felt about it.

Then, abruptly, Reginald pulled away,
allowing her to settle back into her place on the bench.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting,
D’Orrais” came a voice she knew very well—a voice calm, deep, and
frigid.

Madelyne’s stomach flipped as she twisted
around to see a tall figure—Gavin—standing with his back to the
sun, looking down at them. She could not see his face, as the sun
was bright and it shadowed his countenance, but his stance bespoke
of the barest of control.

“His majesty has just returned from the hunt
and it is my understanding that he wishes to speak with you,” he
continued in that cool voice.

Reginald, who had not removed his attention
from Gavin, stood immediately. “My thanks, Mal Verne.” He turned to
Madelyne, taking her hand and bringing it swiftly to his lips.
Pressing against them softly, he spoke, his mouth moving against
her skin, “Mayhap ’tis the news I have been waiting for. I shall
find you at supper, then, my lady.”

“Of course,” Madelyne spoke, finding her
voice. Had she expected Gavin to be angry with Reginald for kissing
her? Why would she have assumed he’d feel the same annoyance that
she’d felt when observing him and Therese together?

But he was not angry at all—instead, he came
bearing glad news for her suitor.

The thought left her empty and bereft, and
she stood as Reginald started off.

“Nay,” Gavin commanded, his hand coming out
to grasp her wrist. He directed her back to her seat. “I wish to
speak with you.”

Now she saw it, as he sat next to her on the
bench: the darkness smoldering in eyes the color of tempered iron.
She noticed, too, the bloody scrape along his cheek and the dirt
streaks along the side of his face and arm. “What has happened?”
she asked, reaching automatically to touch the dirt on his sleeve.
“Have you been hurt?”

“’Tis naught of your concern,” he responded,
pulling back as her fingers brushed the rough fabric of his tunic.
She saw him wince as he moved, and knew he was in pain.

“Gavin, you are hurt—”

“Madelyne, do not attempt to sway me from my
purpose! Your concern for my hurt is a meager balm at this
time—”

“Your purpose?” Her interruption surprised
him, Madelyne observed with satisfaction—she was not so much the
shy little nun she once had been, thanks to his own actions. “Your
purpose was to inform Reginald that the king wished to see him, and
now that task is completed—”

“’Twas a falsehood,” Gavin said flatly. “The
king does not wish to see him—’tis my task to give him the news
that he may wed you.”

Emptiness swelled within her, but she pushed
it aside in favor of growing irritation. “What then is your great
and lofty purpose, Lord Mal Verne, that you should interrupt my
peaceful seat in the garden with your anger and annoyance?”

“Ah…yes, I did interrupt, did I not. I
cannot in truth apologize to you, my lady, for coming upon you as I
did and attempting to salvage your reputation.” Anger flashed anew
in his gray eyes. “Do you not know he only wishes to brand you as
his own? ’Tis why he kisses you in the public garden where any may
see it—and thus wonder about your virtue.”

Madelyne recoiled, and then annoyance surged
through her. “’Twas only a harmless kiss,” she responded evenly,
realizing that she must speak her mind. “He has been courting me
gently, and never attempted such a thing before today.”

“Madelyne, I—do you love him?” His voice was
rough.

“Love him?” She had not expected such a
question…’twas almost as if he had some care for her.
Mayhap….Resolve built within her. “Why would I
not
love him?
He is kind and gentle and treats me with respect…and he is most
certainly not hard upon the eyes! What woman would not love such a
man…most especially a naive little nun who knows naught of a man’s
world?”

She tilted her head to look at him steadily
while trying to keep her gaze from resting upon his beautiful
mouth: the only part of his face that appeared pliable.

Now, as he returned her stare, Madelyne felt
surrounded by his presence. Gavin’s body so close to hers on the
bench suddenly made her feel as though they touched—when they did
not. His thigh rested just next to hers, thick and ridged with
muscle, his cross-garters and hose sagging below the knee.

“Do you like his kisses? Do you wish to
marry him?”

“His kisses were…adequate,” she replied
coolly, taking care to keep her voice steady and nonchalant. “It
has been my experience that one kiss is the same as another…would
you not agree, Lord Mal Verne?”

She looked away with great casualness,
forcing herself to focus on the tiny green apples that grew just
beyond their bench.

All at once, large, firm hands closed over
her shoulders and she was hauled toward him and into a solid,
imposing chest. Gavin’s face—dark and hungry—blurred toward her,
his mouth descending upon hers before she could draw a breath.

A rush of something surged into her
belly—flipping it, squeezing it—catching her by surprise, and she
leaned toward him intuitively. Her eyes slid closed as she sagged
against him, feeling every part of her body come alive as his mouth
devoured hers and she kissed him in return.

His lips, soft now that they weren’t plated
with annoyance, fit to her mouth, caressing and demanding in turn
as Gavin slipped his hands around her back. His fingers molded
against her shoulder blades, warm and firm through the fabric of
her gown. Still half-seated, she fit closely to his chest, at last
remembering to breathe…and gathered in all of his masculine scent:
sweat, blood, power and something raw and wild.

Everything drained away: only he remained,
and the warmth dancing through her veins as he tempted her mouth
open with his. This new sensation—slick, warm, urgent, as his
tongue moved with hers—brought a faint moan from the back of her
throat. Gavin pulled away enough to press light, tender kisses on
the side of her mouth, her cheek…then, cupping her face in his
palms, brought his mouth back to hers.

Madelyne remembered her hands, tucked
between them in her lap, and reached to touch his neck. Her fingers
brushed damp, dark hair as they curled to embrace the back of his
head, then moved almost immediately to know his thick, broad
shoulders. Her fingers closed over his arms, pulling him to her,
wanting to feel the muscle and strength that surrounded her. Under
her hand, he jerked, a grunt of pain escaping, and Madelyne pulled
away, struggling to return to herself.

“What is it?” she asked, her lips full and
clumsy, her chest rising and falling rapidly, still close enough to
brush against his. Once again, she felt the hard bench beneath her
and realized that the garden flourished around them. For a moment,
she’d lost track of where, and when….

He looked down at her, his eyes now soft
andglazed, his lips full and moist. A pang of heat came from
nowhere, shooting down to the place between her legs as she
recognized some intense emotion in his face. Gavin breathed as
though he’d been running, and his hands returned to the bench
beside him as he shifted slightly away. “I should offer my
apology—” He held up a hand to stop her as she drew in her own
staggering breath to tell him that he could offer his apology to
her backside “—but I will not.”

Then, as though he himself was returning to
place and time, Gavin moved again, placing more space between them
on the bench. Some of the sharpness returned to his features—but a
sense of peacefulness remained, too, Madelyne saw, even as she
wondered why he would shutter himself so quickly from what had just
occurred. Despite the fact that she wanted to revel in the kiss…to
explore what it meant and if it made him feel as soft and happy and
unfinished as it did her…Madelyne accepted that he was not yet
ready to do so.

“Gavin, you must allow me to see to what it
is that ails you,” she urged, reaching to touch him again. This
time, he did not pull from her reach, but nodded, and she felt that
that was some small accomplishment.

“I fell from Rule during the hunt,” he told
her. “My shoulder and arm are likely bruised more colorfully than
Eleanor’s jewels, but I do not believe anything is broken. I would
welcome any attention you might be willing to give my injury—or, if
’tis too much trouble, I can seek out another healer to treat me.
”

“Gavin, how can you think I would see you in
pain and do naught to help? Of course I will see to it.”

He looked back at her, those gray eyes
probing more deeply than his kiss. “Nay, Madelyne, I did not know
whether you would care to ease me when I have caused you much
greater hurt.”

She reached to touch his face, but pulled
her trembling hand back before connecting with his dirt-streaked
skin. “I cannot hold against you that which makes you who you are—a
man of vengeance and honor. Nor would I withhold my care for one
who is injured. You need not fear asking that of me, for I will
gladly serve you thus. I see no reason that Lord Reginald would
object to my caring for my appointed guardian,” she added, watching
him carefully. “I do not believe, however, that he would approve of
any further kisses between us. Most particularly since I have
changed my mind.”

The change that passed over his face was
astonishing. Eyes, cheeks, mouth, skin all appeared to tighten,
harden, darken before her eyes. “Aye, Madelyne, D’Orrais could have
little to say were you to see to my needs, but ’tis true that he
would likely object to any kiss other than one of peace to pass
between us.”

He stood abruptly. “You may have no fear—I
shall not place you in such an awkward position again. It grows
late, and I must bathe the blood and sweat from my body. Allow me
to return you to your chamber so that I can go about my business.”
He offered her his arm.

Madelyne took it, frustration and annoyance
coloring her mood. “Thank you my lord,” she told him, resorting to
chilly formality as she could think of no other way to express her
irritation.

He looked down at her, then began to propel
her toward the front of the garden. “What is it you have changed
your mind on, my lady?” he asked carelessly as they strode along at
a pace faster than she would have wished.

“I no longer am of the opinion that one kiss
is the same as another.” Madelyne did not look at him, and did not
take any pause in her steps. She continued to walk toward the keep
as though she had not just laid her heart out for him to step
upon.

And Gavin did not make the merest of pauses
himself. His strides went on, unbroken as well—as though he’d heard
nothing.

Twenty-One

“What ails Lord Mal Verne?” Tricky asked,
looking up into Clem’s stoic face.

He shrugged, his large shoulders moving with
rugged grace against the stone wall at which he leaned. Tricky
pulled her attention away from those broad, capable shoulders and
found her interest wandering over the meaty arms that crossed over
his middle and then back up to be trapped by his gaze.

She felt her heart pick up speed. He was
such a large man, and when he looked at her like that—with a
combination of irritation and flat disinterest, but so heavily that
she felt her chest swell—Tricky felt light-headed and the need for
support. She groped for the bench and sat upon it, focusing her
attention on her feet and the arrangement of her skirts over
them.

“He nearly threw himself down Jube’s throat
when he brought my lady back to her chamber this day,” she
continued, feeling the need to fill the silence that yawned between
them. “He scolded him for allowing Madelyne to be unchaperoned in
the garden—but I know that she was not alone. Lord Reginald…” She
stopped and felt the familiar squiggly feeling she got in her
stomach when something interesting was about to happen—like when
Lord Mal Verne had arrived at Lock Rose Abbey to take Madelyne away
with him. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she chewed
over her theory for a moment.