The King's Mistress. Terri Brisbin
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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 after all. The weather conspired against them, slowing their progress with days on end of rain and wind. Although the hospitality of local lords was extended to them, his party was unable to travel quickly due to his wife’s condition. His wife.
Marguerite had not stirred from her befuddled state since their departure from Woodstock. His mother reported that she barely ate or drank at all, and spoke not a word to anyone, including the young maid Edmee. The lady cooperated and followed instructions, but did not do anything more than was asked of her.
Orrick stood from where he’d broken his fast and considered what could be done for the severe melancholia that had beset Marguerite. Although certain that the surprise of the wedding being accomplished and the realization of her situation caused it, he was also sure that the rigors of the road were worsening it. Now, with less than a day’s travel left, he felt a small measure of relief and hopefulness that once they arrived in Silloth and once the lady had a chance to accustom herself to her new life, it would all work out. Orrick also knew that, if needed, the village healer was accomplished in her skills.
At his orders, the lady was escorted to him and he helped her mount. His hands slid along from her waist to her ribs and he noticed the change in her form. Taking his place on his horse next to her, he guided hers as they made their way on the road west.
He called on his long-unused skills at diplomacy and court behavior and tried to engage her in conversation. His attempts were unsuccessful. He asked her questions about her family and tried to elicit some information from her about her life in Normandy. He failed. Even his efforts to describe Silloth and his lands and people met with no change in her empty expression.
Still, Orrick talked about what she would see, those she would meet and what was expected of her as lady of Silloth. He hoped some of it would seep through and she would gain some information from it that she could use on her arrival.
Passing by Abbeytown, Orrick rode straight for home. It was just before sunset that their group reached the village outside the keep. The enthusiastic greetings of his people made him smile. He had not realized how uncomfortable he’d been in Henry’s court until he caught sight of the open gates of his home. He urged his mount faster and soon they were before the steps into the keep. A glance at Marguerite revealed a gaze that was no longer empty. Now it was filled with horror and she looked around her and back at him.
Before he could dismount to help her, someone pushed through the gathering crowd and reached her first. Orrick did not react fast enough to reach her first. The tall, Scottish warrior lifted Marguerite from the back of her horse as though she were a child and held her out in front of him as he examined her from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.
Orrick leaped from his horse and stepped over to his friend’s side. “Gavin, put her down.”
“She doesna look very sturdy, Orrick. Are you sure she’s the right one?” His pain-in-the-arse foster brother’s evil grin told him that Gavin was enjoying the mischief he was causing. But the expression on Marguerite’s face, now gray with fear, concerned him more.
“Lady Marguerite has had a difficult journey, as have we all. Put her down so that I might escort her to the chambers.”
Gavin did lower her to her feet, but her legs gave out as she tried to stand. Instead of giving way to him, Gavin scooped her up in his arms and turned to Orrick. Marguerite pushed herself as far from her rescuer as she could manage and then did the most unexpected thing.
With a strength that belied her frail condition and petite size, his wife let out a scream that had most of those witnessing the scene grimacing in pain from its loudness and shrillness. Gavin, the instigator of this mess, did not shrink back from it at all. Indeed, he laughed out loud, nearly losing his hold on Marguerite as his body shook with the force of it.
Orrick stepped closer to try to soothe her, but her screams ended on a strangled cry and, as he watched, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head as she fainted.
“Mayhap she has a bit of pluck after all, Orrick,” Gavin said as he handed the lady over to him. “She’ll do.”
“You misbegotten cur of a—” Orrick began in a furious whisper.
“Hold your tongue, friend. I wanted only to welcome your wife to your home.”
“Damn you, Gavin. If that had been your intent, you would not have caused this fiasco in front of the entire village.”
Wasting no more time berating his friend, Orrick climbed the steps into the keep, calling out for his wife’s maid to follow and giving his own instructions as he went. By the time he’d reached the room adjoining his own, servants followed, bringing hot water, the lady’s trunks and food and drink. Orrick laid her on the bed and stepped back so that her maid could attend her.
Exhaustion of body, mind and spirit was overtaking him, as well. Now that they were home, this could all be sorted out. Obstacles that seemed so large on the road would be conquerable now. Orrick turned, deciding that everyone needed some time to rest and refresh themselves.
His steward and his mother waited in the corridor outside the chamber and neither looked pleased. He would hear his mother’s concern first then deal with his steward.
Leaning toward her, he asked her quietly, “What is it, Mother?”
Her answer, in a like tone, could have been shouted at him for the force it carried. “Is she carrying the king’s bastard?”
Orrick reeled back as though struck and he turned back to see Marguerite still prostrate and unmoving on the bed. ’Twas one scenario he had not thought of. Leave it to his mother to come up with it. Well, the truth of her condition would be known with her first menses or with its absence, so he may as well ask his mother now.
“Did she bleed on the trip here?” Orrick rubbed his forehead against the growing pain there. His mother’s tight-lipped grimace gave her answer. “I suppose that we must wait to discover that, then.”
His mother began to turn away, but with a hand on her arm, Orrick stopped her. Looking at one then the other, he commanded, “Say nothing of that suspicion to anyone here. If word gets out that she is breeding, I will know from whence it came.”
He released Lady Constance’s hand and held her gaze, waiting for her acceptance of his order. When she nodded, he added, “I suspect that the long journey has simply exhausted all of us and, with some good food and rest, we will all regain our senses.”
Both his mother and Norwyn, his steward, nodded again and began to leave, but there was one more thing he needed first.
“Lady Marguerite’s maid speaks no English. Can you find someone to help her? Her name is Edmee.”
“Doesn’t Marguerite speak it?” his mother asked.
“I fear I did not ask her that question when last we spoke. ’Twas not a concern of mine then. Now I suspect that it is not in Marguerite’s temperament to teach her servant even if she knows the language.”
“None of my ladies will play servant to a servant, Orrick. You must know that.”
The pounding between his ears increased and he was certain that his jaw would lock in the clenched position in which