A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

Judith slept fitfully that night, expecting her husband to storm into the chamber at any moment.

She hadn’t dared bolt the door against him, and she warred with herself over wanting him to appear and demand she welcome him back in her bed…or wanting to be left alone to grieve and loathe and rage.

The next morrow, she dragged herself from bed just after dawn, before even Tabatha had risen. When she came down the stairs into the hall, which was just stirring for the day, she saw him and stilled.

From the dim corner where he sat, Malcolm’s eyes fastened on her, cold and dark. They glittered, like that of a predator. Judith gave a little shiver and turned away, hastening to the kitchens and far from him, her heart thudding heavily.

What have I done?

She took her time away from the hall, circumventing the area as long as she could. But at last, well into the middle of the morning, Judith had no choice but to return. As she walked through, she saw Lady Beatrice and Lady Ondine sitting with Malcolm in the corner.

Jealousy flared hot inside her and Judith stalked away, head held high, heart pounding furiously. She was just out of sight of the hall when she heard, “Poppy!”

Oh nay.

She spun in time to see Violet charging across the room toward her father. Judith froze and turned, her heart in her throat as she waited to see whether Mal acknowledged his daughter. Her fingers curled into the edge of the stone wall and she tensed, ready to rush over and swoop the naive little girl away from him.

When Violet launched herself into Mal’s lap, Judith held her breath. But though a flash of pain crossed his face as the girl jarred his foot, he was smiling as he caught her up in his arms.

Smiling.

Judith exhaled in relief and wonder. Had she ever seen Malcolm smile like that? With such an expression of love and affection on his face? With such eagerness and light?

This was not a man who was ashamed by or neglected his daughter.

So then why…why would he keep her from Judith? Why would he send her secretly to Lilyfare?

She peered around the corner again, watching. Malcolm and Violet were in earnest conversation, him stroking her hair as the little girl jabbed a finger in the direction of his injured foot, then turned to speak to….

Lady Beatrice. Who smiled and nodded and tapped Violet smartly on the nose.

Judith’s heart seized, squeezing so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Of course. Mal had brought both of his women to Lilyfare…and now they were together. The three of them.

And she…she was merely the wife.

SEVENTEEN

After three days in the hall, Mal could stand it no longer. His scalp itched, his clothes were brittle, his foot was nearly back to its normal size, and surely the reason everyone gave him wide berth was because he stank. Even Violet had wrinkled her nose and squirmed away when he tried to gather her onto his lap for a tickle.

But he was not about to bathe in the midst of the great hall, and he surely was not about to allow serf and man-at-arms alike to assume he was unwelcome in his own bedchamber…even though he had never yet set foot over its threshold.

So he waited until the morrow when Judith was off on a hunting trip before he called for assistance to the second floor and ordered a bath.

To his surprise and delight, the serfs brought a massive copper tub—easily large enough for Mal to fit and actually submerge himself with only his shoulders and a bit of knee exposed. He didn’t think he’d ever had such luxury, except when once he’d sat in a bubbling hot spring at some Roman ruins. He lost count of the number of buckets of water required to fill the container, closing his eyes as one of the maids scrubbed his head and another shook out a clean tunic and hose, whilst another prepared to shave him. There was even a bundle of rosemary and a cloth of wrapped lemon peels floating in the hot water, offering a fresh, clean scent that mingled with soft soap.

His wife surely knew how to manage a household.

A stab of pain at the thought left Mal breathless, and he closed his eyes. Here he sat, in the chamber that was rightfully his—clean, neat, bright, and sumptuously furnished, smelling of his wife, filled with evidence of her presence everywhere…including a long strand of fiery hair caught on one of the fireplace stones.

Though he’d seen glimpses of her in the hall over the last days, she’d never even approached him. Her railing, shrieking accusations were a blur in his pain-filled, confused mind. Mistress? Secrets? Aye, he’d not told her about Violet, but what other madness had settled in her craw? He’d been so enraged and frustrated over her denial of him, so muddled by pain, he’d nearly forgotten about the accusations.

And if anyone suspected aught was amiss between the lord and lady of Lilyfare, no one dared speak of it. But how could they not know? Yet, he was too proud to send for her—for fear she would not come.

He had but two choices: to leave Lilyfare, resigned to their failed match, or to stay and force Judith to accept her role as his wife. At the least until he got an heir or two.

Neither option sat well with him, and he closed his eyes against the sting of angry tears. By now, the maids were done scrubbing and shaving him and more buckets of water had been brought to dump over his head, rinsing away the last bit of dirt. He rose awkwardly to his feet, still unable to put full weight on his ankle, looking about the chamber as they toweled him off.

A chair sat by the fireplace with a small table next to it and a coil of leather that resembled the jesses of a falcon. Thick, woven material covered the floor near the chair and in the corner stood two large trunks. The high, massive bed was piled with furs and pillows, its curtains pulled neatly back.