The King's Mistress. Terri Brisbin
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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.
He may not know love, but he knew the ways of the Plantagenets. Orrick’s father had watched them before him and, although he had no wish to be involved in the intrigues of the court, he knew them nonetheless. The king was a decisive leader, and once Henry had made the decision to give her in marriage, she was gone from his thoughts and certainly from his heart.
Now, all that had to happen was for her to learn that hard lesson. Tonight’s dinner would be the start of it.
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