The King's Mistress (5 page)

“My lord, I could teach the maid.”

Orrick thought on this offer and realized that it was the only way, at least for now. “Fine, Gerard. Show her what she needs to know about the keep and teach her some of our words. Norwyn, she will need additional help, as well. Assign—”

Norwyn waved his hand at Orrick. “Already done, my lord. The chambers were made ready and servants were assigned to see to the rooms and to the lady.”

“Fine, then. I need—”

“In your chambers, my lord. Wine and food for you,” Norwyn answered. “Hot water for a bath is on the boil and will be ready shortly. And when you are ready, we can review my notes and your orders about the estate.”

He could not fault Norwyn for his thoroughness. The man had learned at his father's knee about the duties of being steward and, although still new to the position here, Orrick had found him to be more than competent and resourceful in managing the keep, village and lands of Silloth. Surely the man could hold things together for a short while longer while Orrick bathed and ate.

Back in his chambers, after removing his mail, peeling the sweaty tunic and stockings from his body and sinking into the steaming bath that awaited him, Orrick waved away his servants. As he slid into the soothing heat, he wondered if anything about this marriage would ever work.

H
er eyes would not open.

Marguerite had tried for some unknown amount of time to force them, but her body would simply not follow her mind's commands. Since every bone and muscle and place on her body ached with unrelenting pain, she simply decided that it was not yet time to awaken. The warmth of the chamber and the softness of the mattress upon which she lay pulled her back into sleep's embrace.

The noises of a large group of people wakened her and this time she was able to open her eyes and sit up. Pushing her matted hair out of her face and stretching to remove the painful tightness in her back and legs, Marguerite looked around the large room and realized where she was.

Inside the black tower of Silloth Keep. This would be her prison for the rest of her life.

She slid from the bed and crossed the room to reach the one window in it. A seat with a thick cushion had been fashioned from the alcove surrounding
the window and Marguerite sat down there, exhausted from just the few steps she'd taken to reach it. Examining the carvings that decorated the walls next to the window, Marguerite knew that this would be a pleasant place when the sun shone through the window and warmed it.

The walls are ten feet thick in the keep and it is one of very few stone-walled castles in northern England.

She heard Orrick's voice as he told her of his home. All she could think of when she saw it for the first time was that it was once of the darkest and most primitive buildings she'd ever seen. With its square shape and unmarked towers, it looked sinister against the sky behind it.

It was built of stone to withstand the power of the sea over which it stands and the winds that buffet it constantly. A wooden keep could never survive the forces here on the cliff.

Thinking on his words, she leaned closer to the glass to try to see out, but the darkness outside thwarted her efforts. She would need to wait until morning before she would see the extent of her prison. Tears gathered in her eyes and soon streamed down her face.

Why had Henry done this to her? She had pledged her love to him. She had promised to obey his every command. She had given herself, body, heart and soul, to him. She had even acknowledged her sin of overstepping her place with her demands. And still, Henry had not relented in this.

Now, she was married to this northern lord and
taken as far from Henry as she could be in his vast kingdom. What was to become of her now? Out of favor and out of the king's sight, she would be forgotten in the wilds of England and never regain her place in the king's household and court. And some newer, younger, richer, more beautiful woman would take her place in Henry's life and in his bed.

The sobs grew within her and finally, unable to hold them in, she let them out. Sliding onto the floor, she laid her face against the cushion and cried out her sorrow and fears. And when the tears no longer flowed and she was even more exhausted from giving in to the emotions, she fell asleep as she sat.

 

The noises that woke her next were those of servants moving around the chamber. Marguerite opened her eyes this time to find the strong early-morning sun streaming in through the window and shining on everything in the room. And without remembering how she had accomplished it, she was back in her bed, covered by several blankets. Trunks filled with her clothes lay scattered around the chamber and two young girls worked under Edmee's guidance in emptying them and putting her garments in the large wooden chest. Even though she watched silently, her maid noticed her.

“My lady. You are awake! Have we been too loud in our work? Your lord husband thought it might give you some measure of comfort to have all your belongings settled when you woke.”

“Is that what he thought?” she asked. It was exactly what was being done—her clothes were put
away and her looking glass, her brushes and hair combs were all neatly arranged on a small dressing table next to the window. She wasn't certain how she felt about it.

“I beg your pardon for not being here when you awoke last eve, but your lord husband ordered me to go the main hall and eat.”

Edmee continued to explain her absence, but all Marguerite could do was wonder how she had gotten back to the bed from the window seat. She looked at the two girls who went about their tasks without acknowledging the conversation. They did not understand their language!

“Edmee, do they not speak Norman?”

She watched as the two exchanged a few furtive whispers, but gave no sign of knowing that they were the subject of her questions. But before her maid could answer her, a knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened and servants entered carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water. With a method that spoke of efficiency, a bath was poured for her, platters of food placed on the table and those who had brought everything were gone without a word. Marguerite blinked several times, almost not believing that it had occurred at all.

The sight of Orrick in the doorway told her she had not dreamed it.

“My lady, allow me to welcome you to my home,” he said with a bow. He spoke English, which she refused to acknowledge. Not willing to lose all that she was, she gave him a blank look and waited.

“I had hoped, when I heard that you were gifted
with the ability to speak and read several languages, that one of them might be English,” he said now in the Norman dialect of her homeland.

She gave a quick warning glance to Edmee so that her servant would not reveal her knowledge and then answered him.

“No, my lord. I speak my Norman dialect as well as
langue d'oil
and
langue d'oc,
Latin and some Greek and Italian. But I do not speak English. I am fluent in those tongues used on the continent, where I expected to live.” She aimed her words at him and his pride, hoping to remind him of how much this place was not a desirable location in the Plantagenet world.

If her sting was successful, she knew not, for he simply nodded and waved the servants out. Edmee hesitated for a moment but at Orrick's dark expression, she curtsied and left with the others. Then he closed the door.

“My lady,” he began as he approached her, “with your obvious gift for spoken languages, I would ask that you learn the one that is mine and my people's. As their lady, you will need to converse with them.”

“I will not be here long enough to worry about such a thing,” she blurted out. There was a part of her that still believed that Henry was simply drawing out the lesson he taught her and that he had not abandoned her at all.

Lord Orrick stalked her across the room and towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head if she wished to look into his eyes. She did not, so she lowered her chin and turned her head away. All it
took on his part was two fingers under her chin and she faced him in spite of her decision not to. He was as strong as he looked, and fighting him would simply leave her bruised, something she did not wish to experience.

“I had hoped that when you awoke from your melancholy state and, after you regained your strength from the long ordeal of journeying almost the length of England to get here, you would realize the folly of your belief. Be clear on this matter—Henry has rid himself of you. He has graciously, as only kings can do, taken his problem and made it my own.”

He could not have hurt her more if he had delivered the blow with his hand instead of his words. He understood her deepest fear and her deepest desire and used it against her. Marguerite willed the tears not to gather again, but her efforts were unsuccessful. All she could do was look away from his gaze.

He released her and stepped back. She dared a glance at him now that there was some distance between them. Although his voice had softened with his horrible words, his face and eyes had hardened.

“Marguerite, there is much we will need to work out between us, but there will be time for that. For now, refresh yourself and rest.” He pointed to the tub and the food. “Join me at the evening meal in the hall and I will present you to your people.”

He did not wait for a response from her, which was probably a smart thing on his part. So many thoughts, so many replies were racing through her
mind that she could not have chosen only one as an answer to his request.

Marguerite knew only she did not want to be here. She did not want to be married to Orrick. She wanted to return to the court and seek to repair the damage done between her and the king. But for now, she must bide her time and plan an escape from this unbearable place and marriage.

Orrick pulled open the door and called to her servants to assist her. As they hurried into the room to do her bidding, she caught Orrick's gaze for a moment. The pity she saw there struck at her and she resolved to remove it. Any other emotion was acceptable—anger, disappointment, even hatred. But not pity.

Suddenly exhausted from the exchange of words with Orrick, Marguerite allowed Edmee to take control and soon found herself sinking into the first hot bath she'd taken since the day of her…the day she left Woodstock and the king.

 

“Is the lady coming to break her fast here?” Gavin asked as Orrick made his way to his chair at the long table. His foster brother was enjoying his discomfort much too much for Orrick's liking.

“She is not,” he answered as he sat down. “The lady is still exhausted from the journey. She will join us for the evening meal.”

Gavin laughed heartily and Orrick fought the urge to wipe the smile from his face with his fist. Waiting until the servant filled his cup and moved away, Orrick held his tongue.

“'Tis partly your fault for scaring her to death in the yard.” He said it, but he knew it for the lie it was as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Did you tell her you were leaving on the morrow?”

“Nay.”

“What did you tell her? Did you ask for the truth?” Gavin lowered his voice. “Is she breeding your king's bairn?”

“I did not ask her.” Orrick busied himself choosing a chunk of bread and another of cheese.

“What did you say, then? You must get to the truth and soon.”

Gavin meant well; he knew that. But the doubts that had plagued him before his marriage plagued him more now, and being questioned over this was not to his liking.

“We had a brief conversation which consisted of the lady offering insult after insult and me trying to ignore and rationalize them.”

“I will tell you what she needs. The
lady
needs to be reminded of her dishonor. The
lady
needs to remember why she is here at all. The
lady
—”

“Will learn all those things in good time, friend.” Orrick clapped Gavin on the back. “There is no need to crush her into the ground on her first day, is there?”

Gavin did not look certain, as though part of him thought that grinding her resistance down quickly was the best way. But his friend was not cruel at heart and he knew Gavin would support him in anything he did, even taming his wife's unruly spirit.
Before turning the conversation back to his impending visit to the abbey, Orrick drank deeply of his ale.

“I should be no longer than two days at the abbey.”

“That long?”

“The journey to Woodstock and back took more time than I expected and there will much to catch up on with Godfrey. Would you accompany me?”

“Are you taking Norwyn?”

“Nay, he will stay here.”

“Then so will I,” Gavin replied. “After all, I am a hostage here.”

“And when did your status as hostage ever prevent you from coming with me?” Orrick noticed the gleam in his friend's eyes and realized his aim. “I do not want her abused, Gavin. Not by my mother and not by you.”

Gavin began to sputter a reply, but Orrick stopped him. “She answers to me and to no one else. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Orrick. I do.”

“Marguerite is on her own for the first time in her life, with no one to protect her by name or position. She is testing to discover my limits. You know better than anyone that I have them, and so will my wife.”

Gavin nodded and the meal was finished in silence. There was much Orrick needed to do before he could leave again, and at least one conversation with his wife that he would rather not have. But as lord of these lands, 'twas his responsibility to carry out his duties, no matter his personal wants or needs. And his oversight of the abbey's lands and lucrative
salt lathes was part of that and could not be avoided or ignored.

Orrick stood and took leave of Gavin who was busy flirting with one of the servants. He'd postponed his meeting with Norwyn last evening and now needed to review the records here and give instructions for his absence for the trip to Abbeytown.

All through the day, as he met with his steward, the captain of his soldiers, and discussed the coming harvest with those who oversaw his farmlands to the south, his mind drifted back to the woman in the keep. Drawn by the vulnerability of her soft crying, he had watched her as she sobbed out her sadness. With the door between their rooms opened but a crack, he waited until she fell asleep and then carried her to her bed.

Although he had had his share of women, he was not experienced in the ways of love. He'd search his mind for words to say to her to make her understand Henry's actions, but there were none. She was obviously so much in love with the king that she could not comprehend that his heart, if it ever were involved, had changed toward her. His plans for her certainly had and Orrick understood all too clearly his selection as her bridegroom—good bloodlines, loyal and far enough away to keep her out of the king's sight and way.

Until she accepted that this was not a temporary stay, but her home, there would be no peace between them. Any hopes that Orrick had for a happy marriage depended on
her
giving up her hopes of the king calling her back to him. Lady Marguerite was
not about to do that. Not now, and probably not for a long time.