Lord of My Heart

by Jo Beverley

  Madeleine looked ahead to where Aimery was riding alongside a cart, speaking to the driver. It was a wonder he wasn’t turning gray with the responsibility.

  Nor could he be comfortable. He, like all the fighting men, was dressed in full armor—chain mail to the knees, leather boots reinforced with metal plaques, and a conical helmet with a nosepiece. All this was worn over leather and wool. In the August heat, he must be sweltering. Thierry rode proudly nearby with Aimery’s shield hung at his saddle, and when he caught Madeleine’s eye he gave a cheery wave.

  She waved back.

  They stopped the first night at Royston, no great distance from Baddersley. There was no question of privacy here. Madeleine slept with the queen’s ladies and had no idea where Aimery slept.

  She missed him, and tossed and turned all night.

  The next day she was irritable and weary as they trundled their way to Huntingdon.

  “Come, come,” Matilda teased during the midday break. “So ill-humored, Madeleine, after one night away from your husband’s arms? Pity we poor ladies who have not seen our men in a month or more.”

  Madeleine knew her face was fiery. “It’s not that, Your Majesty,” she muttered. “I just did not sleep well.”

  “Maybe,” said Matilda. “But Huntingdon is spacious. We must ensure you have a chamber tonight.”

  Madeleine looked around at all the smirks and burned with embarrassment. There was no point in protesting for it would only upset the queen.

  This romantic interference was not typical of Matilda, but the midwife, Adele, had told Madeleine it was often so. Women grew slower in the last weeks, and an active woman grew bored and was likely to take up a petty interest. Madeleine’s marriage appeared to be Matilda’s petty interest.

  In Huntingdon, therefore, Madeleine and Aimery were allocated a private room.

  Chapter 19

  As Dorothy found the few things they would need for one night, Madeleine eyed the bed. It was considerably smaller than the one at Hertford. She doubted it would be possible for two people to lie in it and not touch. Her skin tingled. She would like to lie against him again, even if that was all they could have. She longed for more. She longed for ease, and laughter, and love, and the expression of it in mating. There would be none of that, however, until she could give him her trust.

  She tried to debate with her conscience. Could she not say he had proved himself honorable? After all, he was protecting the queen as a true knight should . . .

  But she dismissed such sophistry. She had already decided he had had no opportunity as yet for mischief. Perhaps if they finally arrived in York without incident, she could accept it.

  But in that case, how was she to apologize to him for her misjudgment?

  Aimery came in, out of armor and damp from a wash. He paused as he took in the size of the bed, but his face remained expressionless. He pulled out a green and gold tunic and put on some jewels.

  Madeleine was standing close by, choosing her own decorations for the evening meal. He ignored her so completely when they were alone together that she had ceased being wary and ached for any scraps of closeness. As her fingers fumbled among her jewels, she drank in the aroma of his body, relished every fleeting moment of contact . . .

  She sensed something and looked at him. He was staring at her. Suddenly he grabbed her and flung her against the wall. His mouth covered hers with forceful heat. He leaned heavily against her, his body hard and warm.

  After the first shock, Madeleine surrendered. As soon as he sensed her response, his lips softened. The hand that had grabbed her plaits to restrain her became a caress which sent magic down her spine.

  He rubbed his body against hers, causing a shudder of longing to ripple through both of them. The kiss went on and on, preventing any protest, driving the last scraps of resistance out of her mind.

  Madeleine’s legs began to buckle, and Aimery caught her to him, cupping her buttocks and pulling her close, moving her against him so that her fiery ache was pressed to his.

  He dragged his lips from hers, and they both sucked hungrily for breath. Madeleine was almost swooning with passion and lack of air. He rolled them onto the bed, and his hand between her thighs plunged her deeper into a dizzy pit.

  But an icicle of conscience stabbed.

  “No,” she whimpered.

  He gentled his touch.

  “No!” She pushed with all her might and squirmed away, then leaped off the bed.

  He stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “No,” she repeated again like a chant against evil, staggering back against the far wall. “No. No. No. No. . .”

  He rolled over to bury his face in his arms, his breathing deep and ragged.

  Madeleine fled the room, tears streaming down her face. She stopped to scrub them away. Refuge. She needed refuge, but in the crowded castle there was no privacy. She passed along corridors and through rooms, smiling fiercely, praying for a quiet corner in which to huddle. She ended up in the stable sheds.

  There were few men around, for the horses had already been tended to and settled. She slipped into her mare’s stall and leaned against the animal’s warm bulk. The tired horse just snuffled and dug into its hay.

  “Oh, sweet Jesu,” Madeline prayed. “Give me strength.”

  Something had been opened by that wild assault, and the key had been Aimery’s need. She couldn’t bear that he needed her so. It woke a fire of need in herself. Even standing here, her knees were weak and an empty ache of longing tormented her. How could she bear it when she saw him again, when next she was alone with him?

  The horn sounded for the meal. It called her to go and be with him before the whole court. How could she when a tremor of need vibrated through her like the wind through an aspen tree? Yet she must. Duty, cursed duty, called her.

  As she left the stable shed, a voice softly called, “Lady Madeleine!”

  She looked around.

  A man sidled round the corner of the shed. A lowborn man. English.

  “What do you want?” She put her hand on the knife she wore in her belt and kept her distance.

  “Your aid, Lady Madeleine. I be Hengar, the forester.”

  She relaxed a little. Aldreda’s husband. “There’s trouble at Baddersley?” she asked.

  “If there be trouble at Baddersley,” he muttered, “it comes of that Golden Hart.” He was a slightly built, wiry man, and at the moment his eyes were shifty. Madeleine wondered what he was about.

  “Golden Hart is a myth,” she said.

  “Nay, he be real. Reckon the queen’d pay silver for his name, Lady.”

  Madeleine’s mouth dried. Hengar must be the Baddersley traitor! What in God’s name was she to do now?

  “Who is he, then?” she asked as calmly as she could.

  The man licked his lips. “My word be for the queen, and for silver.”

  “I cannot get you to the queen,” said Madeleine, “but I can tell her.”

  “Nay,” he said. “I’ll only tell the queen.”

  She saw a flash of vicious amusement in his eyes. He thought her ignorant of Aimery’s alter ego and was enjoying the notion of using her for her husband’s ruin. The naked malice of it shocked her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I be loyal to the king,” he said with smirking insincerity. “He be God’s anointed, bain’t he? It be our holy duty to be loyal.”

  “Then what about the silver?” she queried dryly.

  “A man must live.”

  Madeleine regarded him coldly. “If you want me to help you, Hengar, you must tell me the real reason you are doing this.”

  He scowled and his eyes shifted. “That Golden Hart,” he muttered at last. “Stealing my wife, he be.”

  Madeleine’s heart constricted, but she kept her face blank. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it’s true,” he snarled into her face. “Ever since he came back she’s been after him like a bitch in heat, wanting him in her again. Bad enough the
first time, but I don’t have to put up with it again.”

  “Again?” Madeleine asked shakily, stepping back.

  He spat into the straw. “My girl, the only child Aldreda’s quickened with in all these years. She’s not mine. She’s the lord’s child.”

  “Frieda?” Madeleine remembered the fine-boned blond girl and felt chilled as if it were winter.

  “Aye, Frieda. And now Aldreda says she’ll take the child away to be his daughter. I hate the little runt, but he’ll not have her! I’ll tell who he be and where he’s to be found. By the time Aldreda catches up to him, the king’ll have made sure he’s no use to a woman again.”

  Madeleine retreated from his malice, back into the stable, but he followed her. She dimly heard the supper horn, heard the stable grooms head cheerfully off to the meal. She could call for help, but that would give Hengar the audience he wanted.

  “You get me in to see the queen, Lady,” said Hengar. “If you don’t, I’ll see to your destruction, too.”

  Madeline stopped and put her hand on her knife. “Don’t threaten me.”

  “Think you’re safe?” he sneered. “You’ll see.”

  Madeleine needed time. Time to think. Time to tell Aimery of the danger. “Hengar,” she said firmly, “you must return to Baddersley and cease this foolishness. I’ll have words with Aldreda.”

  He laughed. “You reckon she’ll heed you? Nay, if you’ll not help, I’ll ask another. There’ll be somebody here willing to help a loyal subject.”

  He turned away. She couldn’t let him go.

  “Hengar! Stop.” He hesitated. “I’ll give you silver to go back home and keep silent.”

  He turned. “So you know, do you? Traitor to your own kind, just like him.”

  “Don’t claim to be so holy,” Madeleine snapped. She took off her golden fillet. “Here. Take this and go.”

  He shook his head. “What use be that to me? No one’d believe I came by it honestly. I want silver for my news, and Aimery de Gaillard destroyed.”

  Madeleine finally thought of a weapon to use against him. “You daren’t betray him, Hengar, because I would make sure everyone knew it was you. How long do you think you’d live to enjoy your wife and your silver? They spread-eagled an informer in Gormanby.”

  He went pasty white, then let out a howl and leaped for her. Madeleine whipped out her knife by instinct alone. She felt it bite bone as it burst into him, heard his choked cry. Frantically, she pushed his jerking body away and staggered back.

  He crumpled, clutching the agony that was the knife in his chest, blood blossoming about his fingers. His legs scrabbled as if he would flee, then stilled as he died.

  Madeleine looked numbly at her work, at the blood on her hands. She had killed a man. She was damned.

  She looked down at her clothes and was surprised to find them free of blood. It had taken a few vital seconds for the blood to gush past the knife. There was plenty of blood now, spreading through his clothes, beginning to pool in the dirt. What was she to do?

  The knife. She had to get the knife which would betray her identity.

  She looked around, but the area was still deserted. She rinsed her hands in the water bucket and hitched up her skirts into her girdle. Then she stepped gingerly over to the body, avoiding the pooling blood. She leaned down and pulled. The knife didn’t move. It was jammed in bone as it had been jammed in wood that day Aimery had taken it from her. Where had she found the strength to match his? It had been the force of Hengar’s own attack that had driven in the knife.

  But she had to get the knife out. It would mark her as the killer as clearly as if she signed her name.

  She gritted her teeth and used two hands. The body lifted, but the blade would not come free. Then, over her own curses, she heard voices.

  With a whimper of panic she grasped one of Hengar’s feet and dragged him back into an empty stall, grateful he was a small man. She pushed straw over him. She ran back out and scattered fresh straw over the blood. It still looked clear as sunlight to her guilty eyes.

  Her heart was beating so hard and fast that she feared at any moment it would burst. She pressed into a corner as the voices grew louder. Two stable grooms walked past and went into the next shed.

  Madeleine almost fainted with relief. But what was she to do? She would already have been missed at the meal with no excuse for her absence. When the body was found, it would be clear she had killed him. Perhaps the reason for her deed would come out, and Aimery would be dragged down to ruin.

  She should hide the body more securely but couldn’t think where. Her teeth were chattering and her brain felt like wool.

  Aimery. Aimery would help. She flung more straw over the bloody patch, restored her skirts, and slipped furtively out of the stables. Once away from her crime, she stopped in a quiet corner in the bailey to calm herself.

  She began to think. She should have tried again to get the knife out. Perhaps she should go back.

  Her teeth started to chatter. She couldn’t.

  “Are you all right?”

  She started, and turned to see Aimery nearby. Her throat seized up and she couldn’t speak the words to tell him she was a murderess.

  He came no closer. “You don’t look well. Is it because of what happened earlier?”

  Madeleine shook her head. His attack seemed eons ago.

  “I think it is. I’m sorry for it, but this situation is driving me mad. If I ask the queen to release you from your duties, will you go?”

  Where could she go now? She shook her head again, needing his comfort. When he made no move toward her, she flung herself into his arms. He caught his breath, then held her tight, but she wanted it tighter, tighter, to drive out thought. She clung to him, trembling.

  “What is it? Madeleine, has someone hurt you?”

  “No,” she gasped. “Kiss me!”

  When he hesitated, she grabbed his head and kissed him with bruising, desperate force. After a startled second he responded.

  Madeleine pressed closer. He lifted her against him. She opened her legs and wrapped them around him as if she could take him into her despite their layers of clothes.

  He broke the kiss and looked dazedly at her.

  “Yes,” she said. Her vow had been washed out in blood, for she was now his accomplice in treason, and she needed him.

  “I won’t be able to stop,” he warned.

  “I won’t want you to.” She tightened her legs and pushed at him. “Please . . .”

  “Our room . . .” he said unsteadily.

  “No!” she cried as frantically as she had earlier, but objecting now to any delay.

  He shuddered, looked desperately around, then carried her, still wrapped around him, into a wall-chamber full of barrels. He sat her on one and forced her legs to release him.

  Madeleine slumped back against the rough, cold wall behind her and closed her eyes, but she saw only blood, visions of blood. She opened them to see his face, flushed with desire but troubled. His hands trembled as he pushed back her skirts, as he ran them up her thighs.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  She was trembling as if she had a fever. She didn’t know if it was lust or guilt, but she needed him to drive it away. “Yes, yes. Fill me now!”

  His hands left to adjust his clothing, then he was in her. They groaned in unison. Madeleine clung to him, feeling the tremors shuddering through him, too. They must be rocking the very castle walls.

  “Wrap your legs around me again, love. Hold me tight.”

  She obeyed, using her legs to demand a fiercer loving. It wasn’t enough. She could still see the blood. “Take me,” she gasped. “Harder!”

  “Mad . . .”

  “Harder!” she cried. “Harder!”

  He smothered her desperate voice against his chest. “Hush, love. Hush.” But he responded to her urging and pumped into her, hard and fast.

  At last it came, the oblivion she sought. He drove her beyond speech, beyond th
ought, plunged her into an abyss of violent passion.

  When reality returned, he had her cradled in his lap, safe in his strong arms. He was stroking her hair and singing a gentle, lilting song. He had never been so tender before, and she had so longed for it. Now it shot pain through her heart like an arrow.

  “What is that song?” she whispered.

  “It’s a shepherd’s song to a lost lamb he’s found.”

  Madeleine moaned. “I . . . I always wanted you to sing just for me . . .” She broke into bitter tears.

  He held her and stroked her and murmured anxious soothings until the tears stopped. Madeleine had never felt so cherished in her life, but it could not last. She would have to tell him. Still burrowed against his chest, she whispered, “I’m damned.”

  His hand stilled. “By the Rood, Madeleine,” he said with careful patience. “Is all this over that silly vow?”

  “It wasn’t silly,” she protested hopelessly, “but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  His hand stroked her again. “Good. So what has damned you?” It was lightly said, indulgently.

  She came out of hiding and faced him. “I . . . I’ve killed someone.”

  He merely looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  Madeleine suddenly realized the time that must have passed, and pushed out of his arms. “Oh, Mary. We’ve got to do something. I left your knife in him!”

  He was staring at her, but more seriously now. “Who? What have you done?”

  “Hengar, the forester. He was going to tell the queen you were Golden Hart. I killed him.”

  “With my knife?” he said alertly. “Where?”

  “In the stables.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. We have to get the knife out!”

  He caught her and held her. “Are you sure?”

  “I know when someone’s dead,” she snapped.

  He shook her. “Then we had best be careful. We can’t go charging down there. For one thing,” he said with a little smile, “we have just missed the meal.”