Lord of My Heart (33 page)

No, that time when he’d thought he’d broken her arm, he’d been gentle for just a moment then.

She knew it would be wiser to take the thing off, but there was wanton delight in having it there. Dorothy bustled in, commanding servants carrying chests, and it was not the time to be raising her skirts.

It took some time to place the chests out of the way and remove the items which would be needed. Gowns had to be hung so the creases would fall out. Some of Aimery’s possessions had to be moved. Madeleine looked for a mattress for Dorothy and found none.

“You will have to arrange for something to sleep on,” she told the maid as she took off her traveling kirtle and tunic and her heavy linen wimple. She remembered the armband around her thigh, but she could imagine Dorothy’s expression if she were to remove it in her sight. Hastily, she pulled on a blue silk kirtle fine enough for court and a darker blue silk tunic. It was richly embroidered in dark red and silver and set with blue-glass plaques to form the bodies of fish around the neck and sleeves. It was second only in richness to the tunic she had worn for her wedding, and unused since her days at the queen’s court in Rouen.

If she had to face Aimery, she would do it proudly.

Dorothy began to comb out her hair. “There’s a maids’ room downstairs; Lady. I am to sleep there.”

Aimery and she would be here alone? “I think I prefer to have you closer in case I need anything.” Such as protection.

“What would you need in the middle of the night, Lady? I haven’t slept in your room since you married.”

“You will be more comfortable here than crushed together with the maids,” Madeleine protested.

“Think to your own comfort and that of your husband,” Dorothy retorted as she began to form two fat plaits in Madeleine’s hair. “The queen has apparently gone to some effort to put such newlyweds together. You can’t spoil it for her.”

Madeleine felt in a very spoiling mood. “Does Lord Aimery know I am summoned?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Lady, but I doubt it. I was speaking to Maria, the queen’s laundress, and she said it was to be a surprise for him.”

“How wonderful,” said Madeleine bleakly.

By the time the bell rang for the evening meal, there had been no sign of Aimery other than the eruption into the room of a lanky youth with freckles, who jerked to a halt, started to apologize and leave, and then looked around and realized he was in the right room after all.

He gave a hesitant bow. “My lady?”

Madeleine suppressed a grin. “You must be in Lord Aimery’s train,” she said tactfully, not sure if he was servant or squire. “I am Lady Madeleine, his wife.”

The young man went pink and bowed again. “My apologies, Lady. We were not expecting you, I don’t think.”

“And you are?” Madeleine prompted.

“Thierry de Pontrouge, Lady.” He bowed again. “Squire to Lord Aimery.” From his bashful pride she judged it was clearly a very new appointment. It was not surprising though, for Geoffrey was of an age to become his own man.

“Greetings, Thierry. I hope you will be willing to do me a small service now and then when your duties to Lord Aimery permit.”

He smiled widely. “Oh yes, Lady.”

“Well then,” said Madeleine, affecting a casual air, “do you know where my husband is?”

“He went out to find more horses for the baggage train, Lady. He will be back at any time.”

He was not back, however, by the time the second bell told Madeleine she had to go down for the meal. They would meet in public then. Was that a good thing or not?

She was halfway down the stairs when she felt the rub of the gold band around her leg. Jesu! She stopped to run back and lock it in her chest, but then the last ring of the bell summoned, and she ran down instead before she was late. Matilda hated people to be late for meals.

Though she had been unaware of the gold enough to forget about it, now it seemed to burn her skin, and she imagined everyone in the hall was able to see it there, feel its weight, hear the slight rub of it against the linen of her shift.

What would Aimery think if he ever found out? There was no reason he should . . . But he might miss it ... He might believe it stolen . . .

She was seriously thinking of making some excuse and rushing back upstairs when she was firmly directed to a place at the high table beside Agatha. She saw no sign of Aimery, though a space remained empty at her side which could be for him. She began to fret that his wickedness might already have caught up with him, imagined him already in chains.

As the food was served a trio of musicians played on pipe, horn, and drum. It was music to encourage order and tranquility. Matilda managed her court with a firm hand. Madeleine was surprised by a twinge of nostalgia for the meals during the king’s stay at Baddersley—the flowing drink, the loud voices, and the hearty songs of war and lust.

She talked to Agatha in a desultory manner of fashion and a cure for croup. Agatha certainly wasn’t lively company these days. As the time passed, her concern over Aimery grew pressing.

She saw him as soon as he entered. It was as if a bell rang and torches flared. He had not stopped to freshen himself and was windblown and dusty, but hale and hearty. Madeleine felt a spurt of pure irritation, followed by a surge of pure relief.

He bowed to Matilda but slipped into place at the far end of the room among the men-at-arms. Madeleine wondered if he was avoiding her, but there was no indication he’d even seen her. He’d doubtless chosen his place just because he was dusty and late. She watched him.

He was more at ease than she’d ever seen him— healthily tired and hungry, relaxed among men. He seemed popular. His corner of the hall became a beacon of high spirits and laughter. Madeleine glanced anxiously at Matilda, but the queen looked indulgent. Again Madeleine wondered how Aimery could bear to work against two people who loved him so, who were willing to shower him with favors.

Madeleine waited for him to become aware of her as she had been instantly aware of him. It didn’t happen. Then finally—perhaps as a result of her fixed gaze—he looked up. He found her. A piece of meat halted on its way to his mouth.

Did the room really hush, the music stop? Did her heartbeat echo in the silence?

His smile set, then relaxed. He inclined his head, popped the food into his mouth, and turned to speak to the man on his right.

Madeleine realized the activities of the room had not been disturbed, though she felt as if she had passed through a whirlwind.

Over the course of the meal she glanced frequently over at her husband and never caught his eyes on her.

When the meal was all but over, a page was sent to summon Aimery up to the queen. Madeleine hoped he would be scolded for being late and untidy, but Matilda smiled and laughed with him before gesturing Madeleine to his side.

“Madeleine,” said the queen, “this cannot be quite the surprise I planned, since Aimery was obliged to be away when you arrived, but I hope you will not find your time attending me so arduous with your husband by your side.”

“Attendance on you could never be arduous, Your Majesty,” said Madeleine. Dear Lord, did this mean he was to be part of the queen’s escort all the way to York?

“And you, Aimery? I know you have often found court duties tedious, but I was sure you would rather endure that than be deprived of your new wife for so many weeks.”

“We thank you for your consideration, Your Majesty.” He took Madeleine’s hand and squeezed it, a similar action to Waltheof’s but in this case threatening. It said, act pleased.

Madeleine forced a smile. “Indeed yes, Your Majesty.” She turned the smile at Aimery. “We have had so little . . .
intimacy.”
She tugged to free her hand. His grip tightened until she was forced to stop.

His smile widened. “Our weeks of marriage have flown, have they not, love? Except the last week when we have been apart. Have the days dragged for you, the nights seemed bleak?”

“I have been sleepless,” she admitted, hoping he caught the edge. “Lying awake wondering where you were . . .”

“Only a call to service could have taken me away.”

Madeleine could not suppress a gasp at his audacity. She raised her chin. “No true woman would begrudge the monarch the
loyal
service of her man.”

“And no true monarch,” broke in the queen, amused, “would begrudge her vassal the
service
of his or her spouse. You have permission to retire and find a place more suitable for . . . private conversation.”

There was no way to protest. Madeleine meekly went with Aimery out of the hall and up the stairs toward their room. As soon as they were out of the queen’s sight, however, she hissed, “Would you care to stop breaking my fingers?”

Once in the room and with the door closed, he stood against it with his arms folded. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Wrong?”

His suspicious eyes judged this innocent response and found it wanting. “I was surprised to see you here. You can’t have been as surprised to see me. So why were you snarling at me down there?”

She turned away. “I can’t help but wonder when I find you have accepted a position at the queen’s court with never a word to me. What exactly is your role here?”

“Marshal. My messenger must have crossed your party.” He was close behind her. His hands were on her shoulders before she expected them, sending a shock of feeling she could not disguise. It was combined with another shock. Marshal? He was in
charge
of the queen’s journey north? Surely she couldn’t allow this. Not when she knew him to be plotting against the king. She resisted his hands, but he turned her around. He saw her expression and frowned, but then smiled. “Could it be you’re jealous?”

Madeleine opened her eyes very wide. “Is there someone I should be jealous of?” He was feeling amorous, damn him. So was she, but she had a vow which held even more strongly now. What was she to do?

“That’s for you to find out,” he teased. “Having a wife along will doubtless restrict my activities. I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.” His hands flexed gently over her collarbones. His knowing fingers played at her nape. Madeleine could feel her wanton body fight the restraints she was forcing on it.

Her breathing could not be controlled, nor her color. She saw his eyes darken, his cheeks flush with desire . . .

She twisted out of his hold and stalked across the room. “Don’t let my presence bother you too much,” she said tartly. “I have a job to do, and so do you. I doubt we’ll see much of each other.”

It was as if she’d pulled a weapon on him. His eyes turned cold, and he moved as a man moves with a sword.

“Do you?” he said, stalking her. “Yet you’ve traveled with a court and know how it will be. Especially with a heavily pregnant woman. Slow, stately, lots of time for ... amusements.”

He was barely an arm’s length away, and she had placed herself against the wall with nowhere to retreat. He’d warned her about that. She tried to hold him off with words. “I’m not going to allow you to use my body.”

He stopped. “Allow?”

Madeleine swallowed but did not reply. She was breathing in deep drafts as if fighting for her life.

The danger passed and he relaxed, looking merely curious. “Is this because of the last time, and what I said? I confess, I didn’t want to admit how much I desired you that day. I thought I’d made it up to you. If not, I will.” He moved a relaxed step forward.

Madeleine whipped out her knife. His knife. His gift. “I have vowed not to lie with you.”

He froze. “Unless you intend to try to kill me,” he said quietly, “put that away.”

Madeleine didn’t know how she had come to this pass. He was angry now as she’d never seen him. Coldly angry. With every sense alert for the disarming she knew she could not avoid, she said, “You taught me to defend myself against rape.”

He was absolutely still. “A man can’t rape his wife.”

“Call it what you will. My body will feel the same.”

She could see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. “I give you my word, Madeleine, I will not force you. Put away the knife.”

“You gave me your word you’d not fight for the rebels!” she cried with all the agonized betrayal in her soul.

But that moment of anger fractured her concentration. His foot brought her down as his hand wrenched the blade free and sent it spinning to quiver in the wooden wall.

Madeleine was flat on her back at his feet. She closed her eyes. What now? Rape? A whip? Both?

Eventually she couldn’t bear the waiting and looked hesitantly up the long length of him till she found his set, somber face. “Never do that again,” he said, then turned and left the room.

Madeleine rolled over and buried her head in her hands. She wished she could weep, but her grief was a cold stone in her chest, not liquid at all.

Eventually, she pushed wearily to her knees and then to her feet. She saw the knife in the wall, and went to take it. It would not pull free. She had to work with both hands for some time to get it out. The depth to which it had been driven into the oak told of his leashed fury.

He hadn’t touched her. Perhaps he hadn’t dared to.

And she would have the battle to fight again next time.