The King's Mistress. Terri Brisbin
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to gain much by agreeing to marry her.
A pang of hurt pierced her as she realized two things: that she was nothing to this man Orrick except the gold and titles she brought him, and that Henry had made this bargain overly attractive so Orrick could not refuse it. No nobleman in search of power and wealth could.
Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, she purposely chose another explanation of this agreement, one that made more sense to her mind and her heart—Henry was demonstrating her worth and value to him by the amount he was offering Orrick. Henry would stand and put an end to this soon, but so long as the agreement stood, it was a significant sign of his affection for her.
The sudden silence startled her from the thoughts meandering through her mind and brought her back to the ceremony before her. Marguerite looked up and noticed Orrick approaching her side. Holding out his hand to her, he waited for her to place her hand in his grasp.
She looked to Henry for now was the time for him to speak. He nodded at her, looked only at her, as he did so. She fought the victorious smile that threatened to break out as she nodded back.
“My Lord Bishop,” he said, standing now as he spoke, “let the exchange of vows begin now.”
Chapter Four
’Twas luck alone that his hand was already offered to her, for Orrick knew that she would have stumbled or, even worse, fallen at the king’s words. Everyone on the dais could see the blood draining from her face at his order to begin. For a moment, he even thought she would faint. Now he prayed that her shocked condition would continue through the ceremony, for her legendary biting tongue and fierce temper would not help matters.
Confusion and disbelief filled her blue eyes as he guided her forward. He repeated the bishop’s words sealing their marriage and squeezed her hand when her words were needed. Like a trained animal, she stuttered out the vows required. She trembled beneath his hand and he slid his arm around her waist to keep her standing.
Part of him wanted to chastise her for not heeding his words of warning. Part of him wanted to turn and walk away from this devil’s bargain. But the duty-bound part within him kept him at her side and even helped her to kneel to receive the bishop’s blessing as they were pronounced husband and wife to Henry’s court.
Whispers tittered behind them as the crowd knew not how to respond. Orrick stood and drew Marguerite up as the king also now stood once more. Henry clapped loudly and called out to his courtiers.
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” Henry shouted.
The cheering and clapping increased now and was loud enough to gain Marguerite’s attention. Orrick knew he would have to get her away from the king and this crowd quickly to preserve any remaining dignity for himself or her. Motioning to his mother, he introduced Marguerite formally and then asked his mother to stay with his new wife. He must speak to the king and gain permission to leave. Orrick had no desire to stay and subject his family to the farce of a bedding or the morning-after fiasco.
He approached the king and asked for a moment in private and then followed Henry to an alcove in the corridor outside the hall. This would be a tricky conversation between king and vassal, between the lover and the husband of the same woman.
“Sire,” he said, bowing his head to Henry, “my thanks for your attention to this matter.” Henry surprised him by laughing out loud at his words.
“You may not be grateful once the lady regains her ability to speak.”
Orrick held his own tongue rather than express his thoughts. His only intention was to save his family and his wife from the open ridicule that would occur if either of them lost control in front of the court.
“I do wish to ask your permission to leave Woodstock now.”
“Now, Orrick? And not stay for the feast I ordered to mark the occasion?”
He hesitated, not certain of how to answer, but then he decided that the direct method was the correct way to approach this personal matter. He dragged his hand through his hair and let out his breath. The only way was man to man.
“Your Grace, we both know the truth of this situation. We both know of your relationship with Marguerite. We both know why you arranged this marriage between the lady and me. There is no need to drag out the public display any longer. All who witnessed the ceremony know and understand the message you gave.”
Henry’s face turned red and Orrick feared he had spoken too bluntly. “Think you so?” Orrick nodded. “And what, pray thee, was my message?”
“That you are king and your will shall be done.”
His diplomatic way of saying that the king would punish any who overstepped their place in his world must have worked, for Henry’s eyes lost their angry glare.
“Your party may leave at will, Orrick,” the king said as he turned to walk away. “One day you may thank me for the gift I give you now.”
Thinking the king referred to his granting permission for them to leave and not face the continued embarrassment of a wedding feast and bedding, Orrick bowed to Henry and followed back into the hall. Approaching his retainers, he gave orders for their departure as soon as arrangements could be completed. Then he faced his bigger challenge. Marguerite.
She stood nigh to completely still, except he noticed that her hands shook in spite of the way she clasped them in front of her. The pale shade of her complexion was unusually gray and the blankness in her gaze told him all he needed to know. Nodding to his mother, who thankfully did his bidding without question, he escorted his new wife from the hall and back to her chambers.
Marguerite did not move from the place where he stopped and neither did she look at him as he called out orders to the servants there. If she knew what was going on around her, she gave no indication. In a way, he was grateful for this shock that enclosed her in its grasp. He had much to accomplish before they could leave Woodstock and the prying eyes of the court and king. Orrick wanted to put as much distance and time between them before resting his head for sleep.
“Mother,” he called out, “would you see that Lady Marguerite’s belongings are moved to our wagons? She should be packed for the most part already.”
His mother moved into the room and began to organize the servants’ activities. And still Marguerite stood in the middle of it, looking neither left nor right. Pity for her filled his soul. He could only imagine what it felt like to be so wrong about someone and to discover that truth in front of so many others who awaited your betrayal and downfall.
“Marguerite,” he said in a low voice to her. “Marguerite, do you have a maid who will travel with you to Silloth?”
She said nothing and he was about to shake her to gain her attention when a young woman came to his side and curtsied.
“My lord, I am Edmee, the lady’s maid. I will travel with her.”
“Help your lady change into something that can withstand traveling and be ready in half an hour.”
“Yes, my lord,” Edmee answered. Before she could step away, Orrick reached out and stopped her.
“Do you speak English?”
“Nay, my lord. Only Norman and French, my lord.”
“Prepare your lady now.”
Orrick shook his head—another problem. His people, other than his mother and her few ladies, spoke English and a smattering of other local tongues like Gaelic. Was English one of the languages Marguerite spoke? Surely it was.
There was no time to spend fretting over these minor details and so, confident that his orders were being followed here among the women, he returned to his own chambers and found his men efficiently preparing for their trip. Within an hour, his group was on its way out of Woodstock and toward northern England and his home.
If Orrick had known the problems he would face on the road, he might have delayed leaving