Unsure of why she wanted to intervene, she was not prepared for the emotions that moved across his gaze when Orrick saw her there. Anger, surprise and a deep sadness were etched in his expression. But not pity. At least there was no pity as he gazed on her now.
“My lord, I would ask for leniency for these two,” she called out as she moved closer to him. “’Tis your right as lord to punish as you see fit, but still I ask it.”
With his free hand, he took hers and pulled her closer. Whispering so that only he could hear the words, she continued. “They but spoke the truth, my lord. They said nothing more than you have said or thought about me.”
“You would defend them? You heard their words?”
She caught Gavin’s gaze and nodded to Orrick. “Aye. I heard them.”
“And still you ask for mercy for them?”
Marguerite did not comprehend the reason behind her request, but she knew that the results of Orrick’s punishment would be more harmful than good. She knew that she had to stop him from making this worse. The men involved would hate her, not him. Their families and friends would hate her. And somehow worse, she knew that Orrick would not forgive her for forcing his hand to this or himself for carrying it out. Even though she had thought about demanding it at the time and even though she had not asked for it now, she could feel that this would hurt him.
And she did not want to hurt him.
She bowed her head to him. “Mercy, my lord.”
He stood still for several minutes and then stepped around her, walking toward the two tied men. He lifted the whip and delivered one more stinging lash to each of them before dropping it to the ground.
Now he bowed to her. “As my lady requests—leniency is granted.” She watched as he strode from the yard, his people clearing a path for him. Others watching ran to assist the men who groaned in pain as their backs bled.
There was no one for her. None of his people approached her or spoke to her or even looked at her as she walked slowly back to the keep.
She was completely alone.
Chapter Ten
The hall was more silent than she could have imagined while holding so many within it. The castlefolk who took their meals with the lord were present. The lord’s retainers and their wives were present. The lord’s family was present. Only the lord was missing.
Although she’d have liked nothing more than to retreat to her chambers, Marguerite sat in Orrick’s chair at the table and gave the order to begin serving the food. Orrick, Norwyn had told her, would not be at dinner this night and, as lady of the keep, ’twas her responsibility to oversee the meal.
She did not want to be lady here. Truly, she wanted nothing so much as to be gone, but after Orrick’s public defense of her earlier today, she had no choice but to sit at his table and represent him to his people.
The servants brought out steaming pots of another stew and ladled it into the wooden bowls at each place. The plain fare was the same as it had been every night here after her first one. Her stomach, never settled during this time of the month, rebelled at the sight and smell of the fish pottage placed before her. With both Orrick’s mother and people glaring at her, she dipped her spoon in the concoction and brought it to her mouth. At that signal, those below began their own meal. It was the last thing she put in her mouth through the meal other than a few pieces of dry bread.
Passing bowls of the stew, sharing their bread and cheeses and jugs of ale brought an end to the silence, but the hall was not the jovial, loud place that it usually was. From time to time, Marguerite noticed their furtive glances at her. No one would meet her gaze so she attempted to speak to those near her at the table. It did no good, for they engaged in their own conversations and did not involve her in them.
Impolite though it was, she tried to listen to their words and to catch the meaning or directions of their discussions. Through their thick English, she detected that the men spoke of fighting and working and the weather. The women spoke of needlework and family concerns and the weather. Each time she thought to try to offer a comment, the topic changed and she struggled to follow.
Being ignored was something new to her. Growing up, she was her father’s hope for an alliance with the royal family. Although her father’s legitimate son and heir would control their lands, titles and wealth, she kept her family in the center of the social state of affairs at Henry’s court. With Henry, she was the acknowledged lady of his heart and anyone who wanted to gain access to him went to her. Here, she was the outsider with no true power or influence, and certainly after today, with enemies she could not see.
When it appeared that everyone had had their fill, Marguerite motioned to Orrick’s man, Gerard, and she waited for his approach.
“Do you think Lord Orrick is coming at all, Gerard?” she asked softly. Gerard’s face flushed and his gaze moved to several at the table. She knew without looking who he looked to for guidance.
“Nay, my lady,” he answered in English. “My lord was quite clear that he would not return for any part of the meal.”
“And he went where?” she asked.
If his face could turn a brighter crimson, she would be surprised. He stammered and began to answer her three different times before letting out his breath. “I could not say, my lady.”
Marguerite heard the true answer in his words—we all know where he is but we will not reveal it to you.
“Very well. If everyone is finished, I will retire.” She stood, and those in the hall did, as well. “Have a tray ready for Lord Orrick upon his return, Norwyn.”
The steward bowed at her command, but they both knew it was a barely hidden insult. To intimate that the steward had to be reminded of his duty said he was not carrying out his responsibilities. Marguerite did not understand why she felt the need to strike out, only that something inside her hurt at being the outsider.
She nodded to Edmee and walked off the dais and up the stairs to her chambers. Pausing before Orrick’s door, she heard nothing inside to reveal his presence. So, he had not simply retired early. As she entered her room, she realized that the Scot had not been at supper, either. She suspected that wherever one was, the other would be, as well. The door opened and Marguerite expected Edmee to help her undress, but Lady Constance spoke instead.
“You did not eat.”
She was worn-out from the day and her flux and did not now want a confrontation with Orrick’s mother. Neither did she want to explain her every action.
“My thanks for your concern, but it is unwarranted. I had enough.” She busied herself rearranging the brush and hair combs on her table.
“You ate nothing this morn and nothing through the day. I sent Edmee to the cook for some broth that may sit better in your stomach than the food prepared for supper.”
Marguerite was amazed. The lady knew and had taken steps to see to her welfare. Her own mother had died giving birth to her and the only attention of a personal nature she’d received from her father’s household was what was necessary to prepare her for her future role. She turned to face Lady Constance. But she could not think of a thing to say.
An uncomfortable silence encircled them until Edmee’s steps and voice could be heard. She was speaking to someone as she walked and, peering out the door into the corridor, Marguerite saw that that someone was Orrick’s servant. When the man noticed her watching, he stepped aside and allowed Edmee into the room.
Edmee curtsied to both of them and placed the tray on the table. Before Marguerite could say so, Lady Constance waved the girl from the room. “Please eat while it’s hot, Marguerite.”
Her stomach growled before she could refuse, and since she was hungry, she pulled the stool over, sat and ate the steaming broth. Tiny bits of carrot and barley floated in it, but it was not as thick and overpowering as the fish stew had been at dinner. Orrick’s mother walked to the window and stood quietly. Dipping small pieces of bread into it, the broth both filled yet settled Marguerite’s stomach and she finished
it quickly. Drinking a small amount of ale, she looked over at Lady Constance’s stiff back.
“I must speak to you about what occurred today.”
“Lady Constance, I am tired and not feeling well and would like to retire. Candidly, I wish not to speak of it at all, but if you feel we must, could it be on the morrow?”
Marguerite walked to the bed and sat on it. Truly, she wanted to climb under its many layers of blankets and furs and stay there for days. Tugging off the veil that covered her hair, she waited for the lady’s response. It shocked her when it came.
“’Tis my fault that those men insulted you.”
Their gazes met and Marguerite read the guilt there.
“When my son announced his betrothal to you, I spoke unwisely and in front of others. If I had kept my counsel or spoken to Orrick privately, no one would have known of your past.”
Stunned, she felt tears burning in her throat and eyes. Never had anyone apologized for speaking behind her back. She’d heard all the insults—king’s whore, bitch of Alencon and many others—but no one ever acknowledged using them to her. Now, this proud woman did. What could she say?
“I have spoken to Orrick about it and have made it clear to those women who serve me that I was wrong. If you think there is something else I can do to prevent any more damage, tell me.”
Marguerite had never felt this unsure of herself or of how to proceed. She nodded and looked away. “What did Lord Orrick say?”
“He only acknowledged my womanly weakness to misuse gossip and asked me to apologize to you.” The lady drew closer. “He was concerned that you would blame yourself for what he did to the men involved.”
Confused, Marguerite shook her head. “But Orrick is lord here and no one can question him. He can punish as he see fits, no matter the person or cause. He is…a peculiar man.”
“True. But his upbringing was different. His father insisted that the prior at the abbey train him even as he learned from his father. He is a deliberate, thoughtful man, one who is slow to anger, but does not waver from doing what is necessary.”
“Where is he? Where is Lord Orrick now?”
Lady Constance hesitated in her reply. What were they all hiding? “I believe him to be on the roof of the keep. At times, he enjoys watching the sun set from there.”
Suddenly not tired, Marguerite stood and walked past Lady Constance. She needed to find Orrick. To speak to him. To see if the actions he’d taken on her behalf had…had hurt him. Climbing the stairs that led to the rooftop, she was not even sure of what she would say or what she wanted to know from him. Reaching the top of the steps, she pushed open the heavy door and stepped out.
The winds that cut across the roof from the ocean whipped her hair and gown and she fought to gather her hair with a tie. A guard approached and asked her why she was there.
“I seek Lord Orrick.”
The guard nodded his head in the direction of the west wall and Marguerite saw him then. Facing the rapidly setting sun, he stood as the winds blew his hair and cloak wildly around his shoulders. She could not tell if his eyes were opened or closed, but he appeared as still as a statue. She walked to his side and just stood next to him.
The darkness pressed forward from the east and the remaining rays of sunlight threw themselves into it. Sharp shadows and piercing threads of light alternated against the sky. The day, which had been a pleasant one, now became a colder evening as the sun set. Marguerite shivered, having forgotten her cloak.
“Here now, step closer and share mine,” Orrick said, holding his cloak open to her. She waited only a moment to accept his offer. “What brings you here?”
Marguerite was enveloped by his warmth. He placed her before him, facing the sun as he was, and wrapped his arms and heavy cloak around her. Her head, peeking out of the embrace, felt the heat of his chest and neck. He leaned his chin down on her.
“Did you come to watch the sun go down? You nearly missed it but I think the last few rays as it surrenders to the night are the best.”
Marguerite watched as the light splashed widely over the keep and then disappeared bit by bit until they stood in the afterglow. Darker, but not quite full night yet. He held her still but did not speak. Finally she could wait no more.
“Why did you whip those men today? Gavin saw to them and there was no reason to…”
“Defend your honor? You are my wife—’tis my place to do so.”
Turning to face him, she tried to step away. His arms loosened their hold but did not release her completely. “But you know the truth. You know they spoke of my life and that I do not wish to be your wife.”
A frown crossed his face and she wondered what he was thinking. She had told him honestly that she did not wish to be here, did not wish to marry him and did not consider this marriage to be anything but a temporary farce. The foundations of her arguments were beginning to shake a bit since their physical intimacy; however, Marguerite was certain that Henry would find a way around that. With the onset of her flux, at least she was relieved that there would be no result of that intimacy to make the situation more difficult to undo.
“Am I such an ogre that you could not find some happiness as my wife?” His tone spoke of amusement—the glint in his eyes gave away how serious this question of his was.
“I love Henry.”
“So you have said. Many times.”
“Do you not believe me? Do you think he will abandon all that we have together?” she asked. A part of her wanted him to give her the answer she needed to hear.
“I believe that first love is a thorny issue, filled with anticipation and hopes and expectations that are usually dashed by realities of life. It is most difficult to accept the end of the first love someone bears for another. And when that first love is not returned, it is the most difficult to forget.”
“Do you tease me? Think you that my feelings for the king should be played for your amusement?” Angry, she tried to step farther away, but Orrick held her firmly in his grasp.
“I do not make light of your feelings. I would only suggest that your opposition to this marriage, our marriage, is based on feelings that are colored by your belief in the love you have for Henry. And I suggest that those feelings are not completely reliable when it comes to the king.”
Unable and unwilling to face that possibility, she chose another subject. “Your mother apologized to me,” she blurted out.
“Ah. Is that what drove you here to find me? Did she make it worse with her good-hearted attempt to make it better?”
Lord Orrick untied the cloak and placed it fully around her shoulders. Now she could face him.
“Nay, my lord. Her words seemed genuine.” Marguerite shook her head.
“They were. I ask that you not embarrass her by speaking of this further. She is a proud woman who recognized the wrongness in her actions. If you have it in your heart to let the matter be settled now, I would ask you to do just that.”
His sincere request sent shivers of fright through her. She did not want him beholden to her for anything. ’Twould make it easier when she left if there were no soft feelings between them. Even as she wished not to agree, she gathered his cloak tighter around her and nodded. And against her mind’s decision not to speak of such things, she did now.
“I wanted to tell you my reasons for intervening today,” she said, changing their topic to something no less personal to her.
He lifted his face and turned away from her. Eyes closed, he stood as the winds buffeted them. She did not speak, for his actions seemed to say he did not want to hear her words. Marguerite gathered the folds of his cloak around her against the winds. As she inhaled, she took in the scent that was Lord Orrick. Male. Leather. Metal.
She breathed in again for some hint of the other traits she knew but the cloth did not reveal his innate kindness or his loyalty or his… What foolishness was this? She shook her head and smiled at the whimsical thoughts.
“Lady, I do not need to kn
ow your reasons,” he said, turning back to her. “Your actions gave me the opportunity to show mercy. There is no need to know more than that.”
“And showing mercy is important to you, my lord?”
She wanted to know why he did what no other lord would have. Why did he not relish his place as the one who would mete out the punishment he declared? Her own father showed no compunction for imposing strict discipline in his households and for wielding the whip or cane as he saw fit. Once she witnessed him nearly beat a servant to death for ruining his favorite tunic.
He laughed roughly and smiled at her. “Is it not the Christian duty of any lord to show mercy to those in his care?”
Did he know how much he showed his difference by his choice of words? In his care? This place, these people, were in his control and he rightfully could determine their conditions and treatment. She frowned at him.
“I fear my upbringing and training was thoroughly swayed by the good brothers at the abbey. For a time, before my brothers died, they believed I would join their ranks. Their influence differs from that of my more temporal mentors and trainers.”
“You had brothers?” She had been raised separately from her half brother and half sister but, to her knowledge, her father had no other children.
“And a sister.” The laughter left his face and voice. “I fear it was their loss that causes my mother to cling the way she does to me. Their deaths changed her,” he said softly.
Something inside her shouted a warning. She did not want to know this. She would not be here much longer and she wanted none of this personal knowledge of this man or his family, present or past. Marguerite shook loose from the soft feelings growing within her heart and peeled his cloak from her shoulders. Holding it out to him, she waited for him to take it.
“My lord, I seek my chambers now. ’Tis been a long and tiring day for me.”
The King's Mistress Page 9