The King's Mistress

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Worry not, friend. There will be time for the pleasuring or beating once I draw her in. Plenty of time.” Orrick laughed and Gavin shook his head.

  “You still have too much monk in you, Orrick,” Gavin said poking him on the shoulder. “Far too much time spent learning and not enough time spent tupping or fighting.”

  “So my father lamented before his death.”

  “If you have nothing pressing right now, we could remedy the fighting part?”

  Gavin’s appetite for a good fight never waned even in these past few weeks when Orrick had beaten him soundly and consistently. The invitation was a good sign; his fighting partner was ready to face him. With swords or fists, it mattered not for them, so Orrick informed Norwyn of his intentions and they walked out to the yard. He would seek out Marguerite and tell her the plans to travel to Abbeytown after he finished beating the arrogance out of his friend. Too much monk? Not likely…

  “May I make you known to my wife, Lady Marguerite?”

  He felt her hand shaking where it lay on his, but she kept the smile on her face as she curtsied to Godfrey. The abbot took her hand and drew her close.

  “Come, my lady. I have some wine I keep just for special visitors. Sit and rest from your journey.”

  She looked back to him and then followed Godfrey into his office. She had not asked him, but she probably worried over the same matter as she had when meeting Wilfrid for the first time. The clergy made her nervous. Uncertain if Godfrey planned this to be a private interview or not, Orrick waited at the door and watched her.

  Was it a sin to want her so much? He watched as Godfrey drew her into conversation about Silloth and her impressions of the area and he wanted her. When the abbot handed her a goblet of wine and she touched it to her mouth, he ached to hold her. Regardless of his assertions to Gavin, all he thought of was the pleasure they could have if only she would come to him.

  “My lord?” Godfrey called out. Orrick had been so deep in lusting for his wife that he’d missed the monk’s call. “Please join us.”

  Orrick stepped inside and walked to the hearth, just far enough away so that he could watch her face. Some of the nervousness was gone, but she kept looking to him as though his presence protected her.

  “Tell me of your journey from Normandy,” Godfrey said. “I was born in the province of Aquitaine, but spent much of my life in Normandy. ’Tis so long since I have been to the land of my birth—” he smiled “—but I will never forget the blessed sunshine and warmth of those lands.” The monk spoke in Norman to her.

  “My lord Orrick wishes me to speak in English, good abbot,” she replied, smiling at him. “I would oblige him if you do not mind?”

  When spoken like that, it made him feel mean-spirited. He had meant it to help her gain an ease with the language she would need to speak, not as a punishment.

  “Or we could speak Latin and he would not know what we were saying about him?” Godfrey switched to the ancient tongue of Rome, one that had always given him fits when learning to read, write or speak it.

  A look of devilment settled on her features, her eyes brighter than they had been in weeks, and she laughed at Godfrey. “Or Greek? I like the sound of Latin, but I am more proficient at Greek.”

  He watched as the monk and his wife continued to talk between themselves. Orrick knew that if he asked, she would stop conversing in the old language, but it made his heart glad to see her enjoying something as simple as talking. He’d never seen Marguerite this animated, and a pang of jealousy tore through him. Is this how she was at court? When she was sure of herself and in the center of attention?

  He had nothing to compare with but the day of their wedding and he realized that even then Marguerite was different—she was confident that she knew Henry’s heart and mind and she gleamed with an icy veneer that nothing could penetrate. Today, there was personality, but without the facade she wore a few months ago.

  After a few minutes, Godfrey nodded to him and then stood before Marguerite. “’Tis such a joy to hear it spoken, my lady. My thanks to you for indulging an old man. And pardon, my lord, for taking so much of your wife’s time from you.”

  “I do not mind at all, Godfrey. I can see that meeting you has pleased her, as well.”

  “I must demand your time now, my lord, for we have much to review from this past month. My lady, because we do not have women religious here in our community, I am sorry to tell you that you will have to restrict your movements and that of your maid to this building, the church and the courtyard between.”

  “I understand, Abbot. Lord Orrick, will we stay here tonight or begin our journey back to Silloth?”

  “I have a small house outside the walls of the abbey, lady. We will spend the night there before traveling.” He attempted to read something in her eyes or on her face, but it was blank.

  “My lady, if you go to the fourth door down this corridor,” Godfrey said, pointing to the left as they reached his door, “tell the brother on duty there that I sent you.”

  Orrick fought to keep the smile from his face. He knew what lay behind that door and would love to see her face when she beheld it. She nodded to Godfrey and now he could tell that she thought she went to some room to rest or eat. With Edmee following close behind, Marguerite curtsied to them and left the room.

  “Did you tell her?”

  “I thought to let her enjoy the surprise.”

  “Think you that it will please her?” Godfrey asked in a whisper.

  “Oh, aye. If I know anything about her, she will be overwhelmed.”

  “Come then, Orrick. Let her take pleasure in the treasures of that chamber and we will complete our business.”

  “You forewarned Brother David of her arrival?”

  “Aye. Although if she reacts as I suspect she will, David may need help.”

  Orrick laughed and followed Godfrey in the other direction. He knew that once she opened the door there, she would not leave willingly.

  Little specks of dust danced in the air around and over her as she spun around and around in the chamber. Growing dizzy, she thought she’d forgotten to breathe. The monk stood to one side with a knowing grin on his face and she knew that Orrick had planned this.

  Shelves lined the room from ceiling to floor and were filled with manuscripts of all sizes and description. Light pierced the darkness through windows at the top of the room and cast fingertiplike sunbeams into the nooks and crannies of the collection.

  Marguerite tried to discern titles from the center of the room but she was too far from the books. Taking a few cautious steps closer, she gasped as she realized the treasures within this chamber.

  “That cannot be,” she murmured to no one as she recognized books she’d only heard about but had never dreamed she’d see in her lifetime. The Iliad in Greek, The Song of Roland, many copies of the Bible and other religious manuscripts. As she walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, she saw books written in the Carolingian language of her ancestors as well as by the famous writers and orators of Rome. Vergil’s Aeneid was there, and some others in Italian and Latin. Even some eastern languages she was not familiar with. Could that be? A tome by Dioscorides, the great physician and herbalist? The urge to touch them was overpowering.

  “My lady, if you tell me which you would like to examine, I will take it down for you,” Brother David said.

  “Truly? I may read one?” Her hand did move on its own then to touch the first book she’d seen. Homer’s Iliad.

  “Abbot Godfrey said you may read any that you wish.”

  She gasped as the monk stepped past her and lifted the large book from its place. She moved out of his way and followed him as he placed it on a table. He motioned for her to sit and she did so quickly, not wanting to miss this opportunity. During her education, she had read tracts from manuscripts and selections from the great philosophers and writers, but she had never seen a complete collection like this one. ’Twas far too costly even for her wealthy fath
er’s coffers.

  The pages were covered with beautifully-formed words and colorful illustrations ringed the edges, telling in pictures what the words said. Achilles’ last stand against the warriors of Troy. The Trojan war that decimated Troy and cost so many Greek and Trojan lives. Helen, the most beautiful woman of all time.

  She looked around the room once more, not daring to believe that she was in the center of so many exquisite pieces of literature. Brother David stood next to her and then she realized that Edmee still stood at the door.

  “Come, Edmee,” she said, waving her maid to her side. “Let me read some of this to you.”

  “You read Greek, my lady?” the monk asked.

  “Aye, Brother, I do. Can you?”

  “Nay. I have a fair talent in Latin, but not Greek,” he said with a shameful tone. “Although the abbot hopes I will learn, I do not think there is enough time in the rest of my life to gain the skills needed.”

  “Do you read French or Norman or only English?”

  “Language has always been my downfall, lady. Now, I can do wonders with columns of numbers, but letters all jumble together for me.”

  She laughed. She knew her skills were unusual and even more unusual for a woman, but ’twas the best part of all she endured in training to be the consort of a king. Her father had once quipped that her education rivaled even that of the queen and she took pride now in what she had mastered, for whatever the reason.

  “Would it bother you if I read some of this out loud? I have not practiced my Greek in years and now I have two opportunities in one hour.”

  “No, my lady. My task was to be at your service today so it will be as you wish.”

  Tears filled her eyes for she knew that Orrick had arranged this for her. How did he pick out the most important things among so many little details? He never revealed this to her when convincing her to accompany him here for his business—he simply touted the chance to explore the lands away from Silloth and to see what she had missed on the journey north. After months in only keep and yard, she felt ready to look over the lands that he owned or managed with the abbey.

  Edmee sat at her side and the monk took a seat in a high-backed chair next to the table and Marguerite opened to the first page and began reading the tale in English, both to practice her skills and so that the brother would understand.

  Two hours later, when Orrick came seeking her, her companions were asleep but she read on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “How did you know?”

  “Know what, lady?”

  “My weakness.”

  He took a step closer and leaned down to her. “’Tis always a sound strategy to know your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.”

  “And am I your opponent?” she asked, not turning her head or meeting his gaze. The room suddenly felt much smaller as though the shelves had moved in toward them and the ceiling had shrunk from its original height.

  “I thought so when first we met,” he said, his deep voice sending chills down her neck where his breath tickled the skin. “But I learned quickly that you presented yourself with your own worst challenges.”

  Now she did turn to him, sliding on the bench to put some room between them. How did he have such a canny sense about people? “What do you mean?”

  “Your first days here you were in the defensive position, among strangers without knowledge of what forces were against you, no idea of your allies or enemies. Pretending not to know our language was an intelligent move on your part.”

  It was odd to hear her behavior explained in such terms, but she conceded that he did describe her first days clearly.

  “But then you made a critical error and went on the offensive. Do you comprehend what I mean?”

  The night she seduced him. Her first downfall with him. She nodded and waited for his words, feeling the heat of a blush enter her cheeks. Memories of him and his touch still haunted her from that night.

  “’Twas on my journey back from here that I realized that you were your own worst enemy.”

  “I do not think I like that description.”

  “I would think not, but is it accurate?”

  Marguerite fell silent thinking on his words. Damn him, he was right! Forced to admit it, she met his eyes and found that glint of humor in their green depths.

  “Mayhap…” That was all she was willing to offer in the way of an admission.

  “You were familiar with court intrigues and not prepared for those who would be direct and not stab you in the back. My people know only their existence here and have never been exposed to the kind of life you have lived. Even when they insulted you, they did it within your hearing.”

  His men. She swallowed as she thought on his punishment of them for their insults. He reached out and lifted a stray curl from her face.

  “I do not think your actions are so straightforward now, my lord,” she accused. “I think you have alternate intentions than simply coming here to complete your business with the abbot. Intentions that concern me.”

  He stood and pulled her up to stand. Although she feared looking up into his face, he guided her chin with his hand. She found herself clutching his tunic to steady herself.

  “In the spirit of this holy establishment, I will freely confess my intentions toward you. I want you as my wife and I will do whatever is necessary to make you stay. By fair means or foul….”

  Part of her thrilled to his nearness, to the unspoken promise within his words. In spite of everything he knew about her, in spite of everything that had happened between them, he still pursued her as though she had personal worth. As though she mattered. That thought gave her pause. She had always mattered to some man for the wealth or power she brought. ’Twas never really her.

  Had she yet learned not to trust the promises of men in search of all she brought with her? Orrick had been clear about his desire to bed her. He gained new titles and land with their marriage. Were these attempts to lure her into a true marriage simply his efforts to keep all that he now possessed? Did it demonstrate his unwillingness to part with the wealth rather than with her?

  “Why do you want me? For the land? For the wealth promised by Henry if you took me as wife? So, you are like the ones who came before?”

  Hurt filled his eyes, but he did not relinquish his hold on her or her gaze. “’Twould be the easiest explanation of my actions, would it not? Is that what you believe?”

  “I cannot, I do not, trust my instincts any longer, my lord. They have failed me so consistently that I no longer consider them reliable.”

  “What would you trust, then? Would the words of a holy brother be enough to convince you? Mayhap you will read the wording of the marriage contracts and see the truth?” He clenched his jaws.

  He began to pull away from her, but something inside made her stop him. Grasping at him, she held him close. “Tell me your truth, Orrick. Tell me your intentions and reasons. Make me believe.” ’Twas a desperate plea from a woman needing a reason to believe that she mattered. She could hear it in her own voice.

  “Upon our marriage, I took control of several profitable estates that bordered my lands. Although I have power over those lands, the profits go to you to be used as you see fit. You can keep the gold or donate it, as you wish. Abbot Godfrey is the administrator of your wealth. So you see, part of the reason behind this journey is so that you might consult with him on the disposition of your wealth.”

  She gasped. This was unheard of. A woman with her own fortune? Gold to spend as she wished?

  “If an annulment ends this marriage, I keep control of the lands and the income is split evenly between us.”

  “I do not understand,” she said. “To what purpose is the contract worded so? How did you agree to something like that?” Her voice grew louder and Brother David let out a snore and shifted in his chair, before settling back to sleep. “Did the abbot not counsel you against signing such a document?” she whispered. When he smiled, she realized she
was aggrieved on his behalf for her gains.

  “When the king orders you to something, ’tis wiser not to refuse him. I believe he was more interested in protecting you than ’twould appear at first by his actions.”

  It felt as though her legs were gone and it was only his embrace that kept her standing. This news was shocking, both in its details and in its plan. An annulment would give him gold yet he did not want it? And staying married benefited her, not only in the life he offered, but also directly by putting gold into her hands. Yet he encouraged that. Why?

  She decided that it was time to press for the rest of it—he had never answered her original question. The facts he presented had only raised more questions.

  “Why, Orrick? Why do you want me?”

  He took a breath in and let it out. “Do you remember when you accused me of teasing you over the importance of first love? You thought I made light of those special feelings you bear for Henry.”

  She shook her head. Thoughts of love for Henry seemed so very far away at this moment, but she remembered Orrick’s words spoken to her on the roof of the Silloth Keep.

  “I know the pain of an unrequited first love, Marguerite.”

  “Some woman has turned away from your soft feelings toward her? Surely not Ardys?”

  He touched his hand to her cheek and then brought his lips down on hers. After a single kiss, he drew back and smiled sadly at her.

  “In spite of knowing your heart and your body have been given to someone else, I have fallen in love with you, Marguerite. You are the first woman I have loved and I know the pain you feel over your loss of Henry, for I live every day with the disappointment of not having your love.”

  Her throat tightened and she could not say a word. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over.

  “Here now, I did not mean to ruin this occasion for you. I hope you liked the surprise I arranged?” He released her and took a few steps from her side. “There is still at least another hour of daylight. Why do you not take advantage of it while I finish more work with Godfrey? Then we will make our way to the house for an evening meal.”