Lord of My Heart

by Jo Beverley

  Madeleine cast a startled glance at Judith, who seemed to be swallowing this tale whole, in as much as she had a sane thought left in her lustful head. Madeleine had expected this sophisticated man to treat his mythical ancestry as fanciful nonsense, but that wasn’t so. Did he believe in faeries?

  “You should sympathize, Lady Madeleine,” he said. “You, too, were a creature of legend not so long ago. Speculation about your fate was our principal entertainment.”

  “Did you win or lose?” asked Madeleine tartly.

  He laughed. “I don’t gamble. I judge Aimery de Gaillard to have won, however.”

  It was a pretty compliment, and Madeleine bit back a sour response. She was alarmed by how easy it was to be acerbic in the face of Waltheof and Judith’s unity. She began to sympathize with Agatha, and wondered if the girl’s plan to flee hadn’t been inspired as much by a desire to get away from these two as a desire to join Edwin of Mercia. Madeleine certainly felt the need to escape. Even a week of the gripe appeared attractive. She made her excuses and left.

  One thing she had noted was that Waltheof carried a skin mark on his right hand, as Aimery said they all did. She thought it was a bear. It reminded her of the ever-present danger of someone recognizing the design and linking it with Golden Hart. At least when Aimery was with Hereward that danger was lessened.

  She realized she’d left the lovers together and wondered if she was supposed to play chaperone. She decided Judith and Waltheof were either controlling themselves or nothing on earth would restrain them. Or him, rather. Madeleine thought that if anyone was in control, it was Waltheof.

  Was his apparent love genuine, she wondered as she went in search of the queen’s chamberlain to discover her quarters. As long as she had been with Waltheof and Judith, she had been certain the feeling between them was real, and on Judith’s side she was sure that was so. But on his?

  She had reason to know men could play a pretty part when it suited them, and it must suit an Englishman like Waltheof to be so closely linked with the Norman royal family. Perhaps she should extend Judith’s education and explain to her just how deceitful men could be, and how easy a skillful man found it to cozen a woman.

  With this in mind she told herself she was fortunate to be free of Aimery. She would be with the queen’s train for at least three months. Her lust for her husband should have burned out by the time they met again.

  She found Gilbert, the chamberlain, and asked where her baggage should be put, expecting it to be in the queen’s solar or perhaps in an ante-room with the other attendants. “You have a chamber, Lady Madeleine.” He summoned an attendant to guide her.

  Madeleine was surprised and gratified by the honor. A private room, no matter how small, in such a crowded place was a mark of distinction. She followed the servant up steep wooden stairs to the second floor. They passed through two rooms with curtained beds—one possibly occupied, as the curtains were drawn. As well as the beds, the rooms were full of chests, pieces of armor and clothing, and straw mattresses. Hertford was definitely crowded. She must have misunderstood Gilbert. She was doubtless being taken to share a room with half a dozen other women.

  Then the man flung open the door to a corner room which would offer much valued privacy, as it was at the end of the house. The clutter was markedly less, and there were only two chests and a few other items in the room.

  Masculine items.

  A gold armband left carelessly on top of a small jewel chest caught the sun and her eye. She knew that snarling dragon with its emerald eyes. She knew that chest.

  Madeleine turned to the man. “Lord Aimery . . . ?”

  “Is out, Lady. But he will return for the evening meal. I will send your baggage and people here to you.”

  Madeleine looked around numbly.

  But he was with Hereward, doing that “service” he had promised. How could he be here? Straight from that encounter with Waltheof, she began to think of faery creatures who could be in two places at the same time. Then more unpleasant thoughts pushed out the whimsical. Could his service for Hereward be the basest form of treachery—spying?

  She walked about the room among his familiar possessions and smelled his familiar aroma, which she hadn’t been aware, till then, of missing. Her foolish body hummed with delight when she touched his red tunic, as her mind wondered how she would keep her vow and turn him from treachery.

  She couldn’t stop fingering things. His bone comb with blond hairs still in it. A wool cloak tossed carelessly on a chair. The heavy gold armband lying on top of his jewel chest. She tutted at such carelessness. The chest, as she had supposed, was locked, and so she picked up the precious item.

  What to do with it until her own chest was brought up? She tried putting it on her arm, but it was far too large. After a moment, with a mischievous smile, she stretched it a little more and clasped it just above her knee. She felt it there as if it were his hand. He’d never placed a loving hand on her thigh. When she came to think of it, Aimery de Gaillard had never touched her with gentleness except to serve his own devious plans.

  No, that time when he’d thought he’d broken her arm, he’d been gentle for just a moment then.

  She knew it would be wiser to take the thing off, but there was wanton delight in having it there. Dorothy bustled in, commanding servants carrying chests, and it was not the time to be raising her skirts.

  It took some time to place the chests out of the way and remove the items which would be needed. Gowns had to be hung so the creases would fall out. Some of Aimery’s possessions had to be moved. Madeleine looked for a mattress for Dorothy and found none.

  “You will have to arrange for something to sleep on,” she told the maid as she took off her traveling kirtle and tunic and her heavy linen wimple. She remembered the armband around her thigh, but she could imagine Dorothy’s expression if she were to remove it in her sight. Hastily, she pulled on a blue silk kirtle fine enough for court and a darker blue silk tunic. It was richly embroidered in dark red and silver and set with blue-glass plaques to form the bodies of fish around the neck and sleeves. It was second only in richness to the tunic she had worn for her wedding, and unused since her days at the queen’s court in Rouen.

  If she had to face Aimery, she would do it proudly.

  Dorothy began to comb out her hair. “There’s a maids’ room downstairs, Lady. I am to sleep there.”

  Aimery and she would be here alone? “I think I prefer to have you closer in case I need anything.” Such as protection.

  “What would you need in the middle of the night, Lady? I haven’t slept in your room since you married.”

  “You will be more comfortable here than crushed together with the maids,” Madeleine protested.

  “Think to your own comfort and that of your husband,” Dorothy retorted as she began to form two fat plaits in Madeleine’s hair. “The queen has apparently gone to some effort to put such newlyweds together. You can’t spoil it for her.”

  Madeleine felt in a very spoiling mood. “Does Lord Aimery know I am summoned?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Lady, but I doubt it. I was speaking to Maria, the queen’s laundress, and she said it was to be a surprise for him.”

  “How wonderful,” said Madeleine bleakly.

  By the time the bell rang for the evening meal, there had been no sign of Aimery other than the eruption into the room of a lanky youth with freckles, who jerked to a halt, started to apologize and leave, and then looked around and realized he was in the right room after all.

  He gave a hesitant bow. “My lady?”

  Madeleine suppressed a grin. “You must be in Lord Aimery’s train,” she said tactfully, not sure if he was servant or squire. “I am Lady Madeleine, his wife.”

  The young man went pink and bowed again. “My apologies, Lady. We were not expecting you, I don’t think.”

  “And you are?” Madeleine prompted.

  “Thierry de Pontrouge, Lady.” He bowed again. “Squire to
Lord Aimery.” From his bashful pride she judged it was clearly a very new appointment. It was not surprising though, for Geoffrey was of an age to become his own man.

  “Greetings, Thierry. I hope you will be willing to do me a small service now and then when your duties to Lord Aimery permit.”

  He smiled widely. “Oh yes, Lady.”

  “Well then,” said Madeleine, affecting a casual air, “do you know where my husband is?”

  “He went out to find more horses for the baggage train, Lady. He will be back at any time.”

  He was not back, however, by the time the second bell told Madeleine she had to go down for the meal. They would meet in public then. Was that a good thing or not?

  She was halfway down the stairs when she felt the rub of the gold band around her leg. Jesu! She stopped to run back and lock it in her chest, but then the last ring of the bell summoned, and she ran down instead before she was late. Matilda hated people to be late for meals.

  Though she had been unaware of the gold enough to forget about it, now it seemed to burn her skin, and she imagined everyone in the hall was able to see it there, feel its weight, hear the slight rub of it against the linen of her shift.

  What would Aimery think if he ever found out? There was no reason he should . . . But he might miss it . . . He might believe it stolen . . .

  She was seriously thinking of making some excuse and rushing back upstairs when she was firmly directed to a place at the high table beside Agatha. She saw no sign of Aimery, though a space remained empty at her side which could be for him. She began to fret that his wickedness might already have caught up with him, imagined him already in chains.

  As the food was served a trio of musicians played on pipe, horn, and drum. It was music to encourage order and tranquility. Matilda managed her court with a firm hand. Madeleine was surprised by a twinge of nostalgia for the meals during the king’s stay at Baddersley—the flowing drink, the loud voices, and the hearty songs of war and lust.

  She talked to Agatha in a desultory manner of fashion and a cure for croup. Agatha certainly wasn’t lively company these days. As the time passed, her concern over Aimery grew pressing.

  She saw him as soon as he entered. It was as if a bell rang and torches flared. He had not stopped to freshen himself and was windblown and dusty, but hale and hearty. Madeleine felt a spurt of pure irritation, followed by a surge of pure relief.

  He bowed to Matilda but slipped into place at the far end of the room among the men-at-arms. Madeleine wondered if he was avoiding her, but there was no indication he’d even seen her. He’d doubtless chosen his place just because he was dusty and late. She watched him.

  He was more at ease than she’d ever seen him—healthily tired and hungry, relaxed among men. He seemed popular. His corner of the hall became a beacon of high spirits and laughter. Madeleine glanced anxiously at Matilda, but the queen looked indulgent. Again Madeleine wondered how Aimery could bear to work against two people who loved him so, who were willing to shower him with favors.

  Madeleine waited for him to become aware of her as she had been instantly aware of him. It didn’t happen. Then finally—perhaps as a result of her fixed gaze—he looked up. He found her. A piece of meat halted on its way to his mouth.

  Did the room really hush, the music stop? Did her heartbeat echo in the silence?

  His smile set, then relaxed. He inclined his head, popped the food into his mouth, and turned to speak to the man on his right.

  Madeleine realized the activities of the room had not been disturbed, though she felt as if she had passed through a whirlwind.

  Over the course of the meal she glanced frequently over at her husband and never caught his eyes on her.

  When the meal was all but over, a page was sent to summon Aimery up to the queen. Madeleine hoped he would be scolded for being late and untidy, but Matilda smiled and laughed with him before gesturing Madeleine to his side.

  “Madeleine,” said the queen, “this cannot be quite the surprise I planned, since Aimery was obliged to be away when you arrived, but I hope you will not find your time attending me so arduous with your husband by your side.”

  “Attendance on you could never be arduous, Your Majesty,” said Madeleine. Dear Lord, did this mean he was to be part of the queen’s escort all the way to York?

  “And you, Aimery? I know you have often found court duties tedious, but I was sure you would rather endure that than be deprived of your new wife for so many weeks.”

  “We thank you for your consideration, Your Majesty.” He took Madeleine’s hand and squeezed it, a similar action to Waltheof’s but in this case threatening. It said, act pleased.

  Madeleine forced a smile. “Indeed yes, Your Majesty.” She turned the smile at Aimery. “We have had so little . . . intimacy.” She tugged to free her hand. His grip tightened until she was forced to stop.

  His smile widened. “Our weeks of marriage have flown, have they not, love? Except the last week when we have been apart. Have the days dragged for you, the nights seemed bleak?”

  “I have been sleepless,” she admitted, hoping he caught the edge. “Lying awake wondering where you were . . .”

  “Only a call to service could have taken me away.”

  Madeleine could not suppress a gasp at his audacity. She raised her chin. “No true woman would begrudge the monarch the loyal service of her man.”

  “And no true monarch,” broke in the queen, amused, “would begrudge her vassal the service of his or her spouse. You have permission to retire and find a place more suitable for . . . private conversation.”

  There was no way to protest. Madeleine meekly went with Aimery out of the hall and up the stairs toward their room. As soon as they were out of the queen’s sight, however, she hissed, “Would you care to stop breaking my fingers?”

  Chapter 18

  He released them, but it was clear she had only one acceptable destination. If she attempted any other it would be back to finger-breaking. Madeleine stalked ahead of him toward their chamber. The queen’s intention had been perfectly clear. Would he try to take his ease on her body again?

  Once in the room and with the door closed, he stood against it with his arms folded. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Wrong?”

  His suspicious eyes judged this innocent response and found it wanting. “I was surprised to see you here. You can’t have been as surprised to see me. So why were you snarling at me down there?”

  She turned away. “I can’t help but wonder when I find you have accepted a position at the queen’s court with never a word to me. What exactly is your role here?”

  “Marshal. My messenger must have crossed your party.” He was close behind her. His hands were on her shoulders before she expected them, sending a shock of feeling she could not disguise. It was combined with another shock. Marshal? He was in charge of the queen’s journey north? Surely she couldn’t allow this. Not when she knew him to be plotting against the king. She resisted his hands, but he turned her around. He saw her expression and frowned, but then smiled. “Could it be you’re jealous?”

  Madeleine opened her eyes very wide. “Is there someone I should be jealous of?” He was feeling amorous, damn him. So was she, but she had a vow which held even more strongly now. What was she to do?

  “That’s for you to find out,” he teased. “Having a wife along will doubtless restrict my activities. I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.” His hands flexed gently over her collarbones. His knowing fingers played at her nape. Madeleine could feel her wanton body fight the restraints she was forcing on it.

  Her breathing could not be controlled, nor her color. She saw his eyes darken, his cheeks flush with desire . . .

  She twisted out of his hold and stalked across the room. “Don’t let my presence bother you too much,” she said tartly. “I have a job to do, and so do you. I doubt we’ll see much of each other.”

  It was as if she’d pulled a weapon on h
im. His eyes turned cold, and he moved as a man moves with a sword.

  “Do you?” he said, stalking her. “Yet you’ve traveled with a court and know how it will be. Especially with a heavily pregnant woman. Slow, stately, lots of time for . . . amusements.”

  He was barely an arm’s length away, and she had placed herself against the wall with nowhere to retreat. He’d warned her about that. She tried to hold him off with words. “I’m not going to allow you to use my body.”

  He stopped. “Allow?”

  Madeleine swallowed but did not reply. She was breathing in deep drafts as if fighting for her life.

  The danger passed and he relaxed, looking merely curious. “Is this because of the last time, and what I said? I confess, I didn’t want to admit how much I desired you that day. I thought I’d made it up to you. If not, I will.” He moved a relaxed step forward.

  Madeleine whipped out her knife. His knife. His gift. “I have vowed not to lie with you.”

  He froze. “Unless you intend to try to kill me,” he said quietly, “put that away.”

  Madeleine didn’t know how she had come to this pass. He was angry now as she’d never seen him. Coldly angry. With every sense alert for the disarming she knew she could not avoid, she said, “You taught me to defend myself against rape.”

  He was absolutely still. “A man can’t rape his wife.”

  “Call it what you will. My body will feel the same.”

  She could see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. “I give you my word, Madeleine, I will not force you. Put away the knife.”

  “You gave me your word you’d not fight for the rebels!” she cried with all the agonized betrayal in her soul.

  But that moment of anger fractured her concentration. His foot brought her down as his hand wrenched the blade free and sent it spinning to quiver in the wooden wall.