The King's Mistress. Terri Brisbin
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his displeasure show, Gerard spoke from the shadows.
“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.
Chapter Five
Her 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