by Leila Snow
Far from calming, her perusal brought her overwrought emotions to the surface and she gulped for air. "I must get out," she whispered. "I cannot..." She swayed but had no need to finish her thought as Nathaniel swept her into his arms and strode immediately up the narrow stone steps.
"Can't breathe," she gasped.
"Linny," he said in a low but firm voice. "Look at me."
She obeyed and looked up into his familiar face.
"You will be all right," he comforted. "You are strong and you are brave. Slow your breathing and calm yourself."
She focused on the words coming out of his mouth and complied with his bidding. Slowly, and gradually, the air returned to her lungs.
"You need to rest," Nate said soothingly as he strode towards the outer door of the chapel and her chambers. When they arrived, he nodded at Muriel who stood waiting for her mistress and she opened it, allowing him to carry Madeline into the room. He deposited her gently on the blue coverlet and stroked the veil back from her face. "Better now?" he asked, worry in his voice.
Madeline nodded.
"Thank the Lord." He sounded relieved, his eyes searching hers for the truth of her statement. "I should leave you now to the care of your maid."
"Nay!" she burst out. "Do not leave me," tears filled her eyes.
"Very well. Settle, my Lady," he agreed, contemplating the maid cautiously. "I will sit in a chair by the door but for your reputation, your maid must remain."
Madeline nodded again wearily and closed her eyes, confident that Nate would watch over her whilst she slept.
* * *
She woke with a start many hours later. The sun had sunk from the sky, leaving only the darkness of night visible out the window. She pushed herself up in bed and glanced about the room. Nate still sat by the door, his chin resting on his chest as he dozed. Muriel sat in a chair by the fireplace. The maid did not sleep but stared wistfully into the flames. Madeline hadn't realized the extent of the woman's sorrow at Lord Endle's passing.
She lay back down and the events of the day bombarded her. Reminders of Geoffrey's glee, Aileth's obvious love for Nathaniel, the king's affection for Endle, yet his insinuation that she would not be allowed an appropriate mourning period before being summoned to his bed again. As it had earlier, the emotions welled up within her. Unable to lie placidly, she arose, still clothed in her mourning white. Muriel turned to her with a start and made to rise, but Madeline's gesture bade her to remain seated.
Restlessly she paced the room but her thoughts would not stop churning. If only Endle was alive and well, he could have helped her make sense of them and Madeline could have begged his forgiveness for not only one betrayal, but two. But he now lay cold in the crypt.
She moved quickly to the door and once again gestured for the maid to remain. Pulling the door open, she slid silently into the dimness of the corridor. Remembering the route to the chapel, she made her way in that direction. The heavy wooden door of the sanctuary made a frightful creaking as it opened and Madeline hurried through before anyone could investigate.
Candles still burned in the interior, their light flickering unnervingly off the statues of saints, making them appear lifelike. Madeline swallowed her fear and grabbing a candle, moved to the stairs at the back of the apse. Carefully she descended. As before, she did not survey her surrounding but made her way straight to the stone casket wherein Endle lay.
They must have covered it with the brass effigy after she had departed and she admired its resemblance to her husband. It was well-carved and worthy of the man who lay beneath it. Standing next to his likeness, Madeline burst into tears.
"You deserved so much better than I, Endle," she sobbed, guilt clutching at her. "I betrayed you. You knew of the one betrayal, but I was unfaithful even before we wed. And there is now no chance to plead for forgiveness, though I truly do not deserve any."
"I had not intention of lying with the king that day," she continued. "It was not my desire but his. Nevertheless my body played the Judas and I responded to him. You knew of that, yet you did not know of the sin that is worse still. That was a terrible sin of the flesh but my true transgression against you is far greater."
She took a long shuddering breath as she confessed all.
"I love Nathaniel," she acknowledged for the first time aloud. "I have loved him since my earliest remembrance. I should not have married you with such deception in my heart. With him, I betrayed you both in body and soul. Though I have tried, I cannot purge myself of this affection."
She lay her fingers on either side of his cold, brass face. "May God forgive me, I love him still," she whispered, resting her cheek on the chest of the effigy.
Seeking some absolution, Madeline lay thus for an indeterminate time. The cold chill of the crypt seeped through her dress, and yet she remained.
Subtly, in the far reaches of her heart, she was reminded of Endle's words to her. "Don't fret...not your fault," reverberated soundlessly through her. "Don't fret...not your fault."
Tears poured down Madeline's face. "I never intended..." she supplicated.
But the words came louder to her, "Not your fault."
"I need your forgiveness, Endle," she cried. She stared down through her tears, at her husband's graven face and found the forgiveness she sought in the kindly eyes and the benevolent half-smile the engravers had so accurately captured.
"Thank you Endle," she whispered as she pressed her lips to the frigid brass of his effigy.
Be with me always - take any form,
drive me mad!
Only do not leave me in this abyss,
where I cannot find you!
Oh, God! it is unutterable!
I can not live without my life!
I cannot live without my soul!
~Emily Bronte
CHAPTER 25
Nathaniel woke with a crick in his neck. He was still slumped in the chair in Madeline's room. Instinctively he glanced over to her bed to assure himself how she fared. Surprisingly, the bedcovers were pulled back and rumpled but Madeline was not there. He hurriedly scanned the room but there was no sign of her, though her maid still sat in a chair by the fire.
"Where is she?" he bellowed, startling the poor girl enough that she nearly fell from her seat. She stared at him with horrified fear. "I won't ask again," he barked, too worried to be considerate of the maid.
"She…she left," Muriel stammered.
"Where did she go?" he demanded, rising and flinging the door wide.
"I don't know," the girl whimpered at his thunderous expression. "She bade me stay."
"And you allowed her to wander the castle alone? In her state?" he growled. His expression softened when he saw tears spring to the maid's eyes. "No mind," he consoled her briskly. "I will find her."
Once in the darkened corridor, Nathaniel ran his fingers through his loose hair. Where could Linny have gone? he wondered, fearing for her well-being. Was it possible that she went to the king? Nathaniel had recognized the lingering, lust-filled looks the monarch had been directing towards Madeline, yet as well as he knew her, he hadn't seen any reciprocating interest on her part. Nay, unless the king had specifically summoned her, Madeline wouldn't have gone to the monarch of her own accord. In the past she had always come to him, but with his pending wedding, he knew that she no longer allowed herself that luxury. And so, if not him, then whom? Frantically, he paced the hallway outside her room before the realisation came. Endle! He spun about and hastened towards the crypt.
The chapel's heavy wooden door creaked atrociously when he pulled it open. Uncaring, he rushed into the sanctuary, grabbing a candle as he made his way to the crypt. This door opened without a sound and somewhere far below he could see the faint flickering of a light. He hurried down the stairs and slammed to a stop when he saw Madeline sprawled lifelessly over the brass effigy on Lord Endle's tomb.
"Linny!" he shouted as he lunged towards her. Pulling her cold body into his arms, he hugged her close and
carried her up the stairs into the relative warmth of the chapel. Laying her on a wooden bench, he pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her still form. Madeline's lips were blue with cold but he was relieved to see that her chest still rose and fell.
"What were you doing down there?" he questioned his unconscious love. Picking up a cold hand, he raised it to his mouth, blew warmly onto it then chaffed it between his own.
"Nate?" she asked weakly, opening her eyes.
"I'm here, darling," he assured her.
"So cold," she said, her teeth beginning to chatter.
"No doubt, you little fool," he said dryly, pulling her once again into his arms. "Whatever possessed you to go down into the crypt?"
"Needed to ask for forgiveness," she murmured. "I cannot tell you more," she pleaded, remembering the necessity of keeping the king's intimate demands from him.
"You can tell me anything, Linny," he swore to her. "And you cannot convince me that you need forgiveness for anything."
"Not anymore," she whispered. "I have already been forgiven. Such is grace."
He was confused by her cryptic words but now was not the time to bombard her with questions. He needed to get her warm. Standing, he carried her out of the chapel.
"Put me down, Nate," she beseeched him, kicking her feet as feeling gradually returned to them. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."
"Now I know you will be all right," he chuckled. "Your stubborn perseverance has returned."
She smiled at him, but then a worried look creased her brow. "It would not do if you were to be seen carrying me about the castle alone at night."
Misunderstanding and hurt, he frowned at her. The wary expression that flitted across her face cut him to the quick. Ignoring the ache in his heart, he delivered her back to her room and the care of her fussing maid. Without another word, he lay her gently on the bed and left.
Once again he found himself pacing in the corridor outside her door. Only this time, another dilemma weighed heavily on his mind, one that he had not allowed himself to contemplate until this moment. Madeline was now a widow. No longer bound to another. Although he was betrothed to Aileth, could he go through with the wedding, knowing there was a chance, however minuscule, that he and Madeline could be together? And could his honour allow him to do that to Aileth after what he had taken from her?
After hours of wrestling with his thoughts, he determined to go speak with his intended. Perhaps he might find resolution in her words.
* * *
It was apparent that Aileth had just finished her morning ablutions when he knocked at her chamber. The maid opened the door and he saw Aileth's face light up at his presence. His heart sank, reminded of what he already knew. The girl had genuine feelings for him. Guilt sat like a stone in his gut, knowing he would never be able to love her as she loved him. Absently, he wondered if that was how Madeline had felt with Lord Endle.
"May I speak with you in private?" he asked quietly.
"I don't believe that to be a problem," she said with a soft smile. "After all, we are to be wed in less than a fortnight." She dismissed the maid with a gentle smile and a wave.
"Is there aught you'd like to discuss?" she asked when the maid had left and Nathaniel stood awkwardly before her.
"Aye," he said falteringly. "Do ye want to marry me?" he blurted out. "What I mean is, do you marry me of your own desire and free will or is it due to my actions that night?"
He watched her blush and turn aside from him at the mention of their indiscretion. Regaining her composure, she spun back.
"Nay," she said mildly. Her cheeks were still pink but she looked him in the eye. "It is what I want more than anything in this life, though I know you do not feel the same. Daily I petition our Lord that you may one day feel the same as I."
Nathaniel nodded, grieved over what he could not give the gentle girl. "I must know that it is your will," he explained, raking his fingers through his hair. "That if given the chance you would choose marriage to me over going back to the convent or anything else."
"I choose you," she said earnestly. "And that is my genuine desire. Though even if it weren't, I would be unable to resume life in the convent," she confessed looking down at her hands.
"I don't understand," he questioned her delicately.
"In the summer months I will give birth to your babe," she disclosed with another blush.
Nathaniel put his hand against the doorframe and gaped at her incredulously. Of course it had been a possibility, though it had never crossed his mind. There was no doubt it was the truth and even less that the babe was anyone else's but his. With Aileth's announcement, any budding hope of a future with Madeline was crushed.
"Are you pleased?" she asked timidly, her uncertainty breaking his heart.
"I am overjoyed, sweet girl," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Imagine, a child of our own," he whispered breathlessly against her hair, as a drowning sensation overwhelmed him.
* * *
Madeline began to eat again in the days that followed her confession to Endle. She still mourned his death, but the guilt that had weighed her down had lightened. Further giving her hope, was a slow dawning realization that perhaps she might petition the king to allow her to choose her future husband. As a wealthy widow, her fate now lay in his hands. Madeline smiled in hopeful joy and bade Muriel fetch Cedric. She would beg and plead with Edward to allow her this one chance at happiness.
When Muriel arrived back at the chamber with the steward, Madeline was ready with a letter for him to deliver to the king. She had sealed it with wax from the taper on the table and cautioned him to ensure he delivered it personally to Edward's own hand. Cedric assured her that it would be done as she had requested. Now, all that could be done was to wait with nervous anticipation for the king's invitation.
She paced and stared out the window at the dead gardens, and then paced some more. She saw Muriel regarding her with a concerned expression, but she was too excited and anxious to fabricate an excuse, and so she ignored her.
As it turned out, Madeline did not have to wait long for the king's summons. Cedric arrived within the hour.
"My lady, a word please," he said briskly as Muriel opened the door with Madeline hovering behind her. "Alone," he directed at the confused maid.
"My thanks, Muriel. You may leave," Madeline said.
The maid bobbed and rushed out. The steward closed the door firmly behind her. He grasped two candles, handing one to Madeline as he strode to a tapestry depicting a stag hunt. Cedric pushed it aside to uncover a wooden panel, similar to the one the king had revealed to her a few short weeks ago. He felt about briefly and then pressed against a knot that protruded slightly from the wood. To Madeline's shock, the panel swung wide. Once again she found herself following the steward silently down winding, black tunnels into the heart of the castle. After opening several more hidden doors and walking for what seemed an hour, Cedric finally stopped.
"I believe you should be able to find your way from here," he stated.
"Indeed," Madeline nodded, recognizing the passageway that led to Rosamund's bower. "You may go," she dismissed.
Carefully, she made her way along the twists and winding turns of the secret passageway. As she rounded the last corner, she could see the door to the bower stood ajar. Suddenly hesitant, she steeled her nerve and stepped through the entrance, willing herself to cast aside the memory of what had recently transpired within these walls.
Edward stood within, clad only in a simple white tunic and holding two goblets. He gave her a sensuous smile as his regard roved over her silhouette. So intense was his gaze that Madeline shivered in the thought that her clothing had suddenly become transparent.
"Do you remember the last time we were together here?" he asked in a low, smooth voice, his eyes not breaking contact. "There," he nodded towards the cushions before the fire. "And there," he nodded towards the bed. "Do you remember how you cried out with pleasure?"
Madeli
ne felt her face redden with guilt and embarrassment. "It should not have happened, Edward," she whispered.
"You no longer believe that it was the cause of Lord Endle's death?" the king asked incredulously.
"Nay," she replied. "I do not. Though the fact remains that what passed between us is sinful and an abomination."
Edward sighed. "I thought this had been discussed," he said with barely veiled irritation. "As God's representative, I will choose what is right and what is wrong. Do you deny me my God-given rights?" he asked, a cautionary note in his voice.
"Nay, I do not," Madeline back-stepped, realising her error.
"Very good," he accepted, the sensuous smile returning to his face. "I will be honest, I intended to give you another week or two before summoning you here, my sweet Rosamund," he said drawing near to her. He stroked a finger down her cheek and across the tops of her breasts.
Madeline inhaled sharply at the sensation.
"But here you are. You have summoned me instead," he grinned at her as he began to pluck at the laces of her dress.
"Sire," she begged, realising the misunderstanding. "It is not as you surmise. I came to plead a favour of you."
His fingers paused, the laces loose and tangled between them. "Indeed?" he asked questioningly. "And what is that favour, pray? At the moment, I would grant you anything," he said, resuming his travail. Pulling the last lace from the eyelet, he groaned as he feasted his eyes on her revealed breasts. Carnally he palmed them and stroked his thumb across her nipple.
"Sire!" Madeline gasped pulling back out of his reach. "I ask your permission to marry," she blurted out.
"What was that?' the young king said, surprisedly searching her face. "You have only just buried your husband."
"After an acceptable mourning period, of course," she pacified him.