Sanctuary of Roses (Medieval Herb Garden 2)

Mal Verne stood next to her, unspeaking. Yet she was as aware of his every breath as she was of her own pulse beating through her veins. His hand rested on the waist-high stone, and she saw how long and thick his fingers were, how the veins and tendons and scars sculpted the back of it. How solid his wrist looked next to her own dainty one.

He broke the silence at last. "If you did not climb up here to elude Jube for the purpose of taking matters into your own hands and jumping, what was it that prompted you to come out in the midst of a gathering storm?"

Madelyne looked at the lightning that flashed in the north, closer now, then down again at her own hand resting next to his on the wall. Slim and pale, her fingers took up barely a third of the width of one stone brick, while his hand covered nearly the whole of one. A flash of memory caught her by surprise-an image of a hand, powerful and wide as Mal Verne's, raised in violence and darkness.

The remembrance was so strong that she took an involuntary step backward, her hand pulling to her chest to clutch at her cloak. He turned his head quickly to look at her, question and something akin to concern flashing in his eyes. "What is it?"

Feeling foolish at her reaction to a mere memory, Madelyne forced a smile and waved her action away. "'Twas naught but a night beetle that flew in my face," she replied lightly. "It startled me. "

Mal Verne looked at her curiously for a moment, then relented and allowed her out from under his delving stare when he turned to look back toward the storm. "May I escort you below to your chamber now, my lady? The lightning draws near and you are at risk at this height. "

Madelyne arched one brow but continued to look out over the land. "And what happened to my own personal guard, Jube? Is that not his duty, my lord?"

"I dismissed Jube, sending him to take his place out side of your chamber door. " Mal Verne's voice rumbled low, not unlike the thunder echoing in the distance. "If you had planned to end your life thus, I preferred to be the one to witness it-as you are under my care in the name of the king. " The stress on those last words was not lost on Madelyne. In that moment, she realized she believed him when he claimed he acted in the king's name.

And, she also knew the odd disappointment that 'twas not his desire to seek her company that had led Mal Verne to find her on the wall. "Very well, then, my lord. " She turned abruptly to take his arm and found his stare fixed on her in such a way that caused her breath to hitch in her throat. For a moment, he was unmoving and she halted, confused and riddled with an odd heaviness in her limbs.

The moment froze-thunder crashed behind her, lightning zinged through the clouds, the smell of rain was in the air, and the brick felt rough and hard beneath her fingers-as he reached to touch her. His hand hovered in mid-air for a second, as if he hesitated, then rested warm and heavy on top of her head. His fingers smoothed over the side of her skull, bumping over one thick braid, and slid along the heavy tresses that were tucked under her cloak.

Madelyne hardly dared breathe. No one had touched her that way. . . ever. Certainly not a man. Certainly not the man to whom she now played hostage. Her heart thumped madly, but for all of that. . . nay, she was not truly alarmed. Why did he not frighten her-this large, stony, gruff man?

"You have beautiful hair," he murmured in the same low, rumbly voice he'd used a moment earlier. He stepped toward her, his presence surrounding Madelyne like a cape. She felt the wall behind her and looked up into his eyes, inscrutable in the dimness. Her heart thundered in her chest and her mouth dried as the heaviness of his gaze sent heat coursing through her.

Then, suddenly, it was as if something snapped. He fell back, his hand slamming to his side, and the urgency gone from his gaze. "'Twould have been a sin had you cut it. " His words were fact of the matter, and made in a sharp, almost cutting voice. "Now, lady, may I take you below where you will be protected from the storm?"

Her head spinn

ing, and her face warm with the flush of mortification, Madelyne could do naught but nod. Disdaining his proffered arm, she turned her back to him and, clutching a handful of skirt, started toward the stairs.

'Twas just as well that he did not sleep well that night, Gavin would realize later with some relief.

This first night back in his own chambers should have been one of comfort and rest. For the first time in many a moon, he was not forced to unroll a traveling pallet onto cold, hard ground, or to sleep on a lumpy, hay-filled pallet in a chamber he shared with a myriad of other snorting, snoring, snuffling men.

Rosa had bathed him and would have serviced him further had he wished, but Gavin declined, desiring only his own company. He stood at the window slit, clad in his chausses with loosed cross garters, watching the lightning brighten the sky as if it were midday. The wall beneath his fingers shuddered as thunder crashed above.

Mayhap he should have availed himself of Rosa's offer, else he would not have made such a fool of himself upon the wall with Lady Madelyne. . . and likely he would be sleeping soundly instead of watching the rain trail off from its brief, thrashing downpour.

Clean wetness filled the air, tingeing his nostrils and cooling his bare chest as he leaned on the bottom of the arrow slit and looked out over his domain. Yet, in the darkness, he could see only the perfect oval of the nun's fair face, upturned to him with wide eyes, darkened by the night shadows. And her lips. . . Jesu. . . they were full and wide-made for kissing, he'd thought in one absurd moment before he'd remembered who she was.

Even now, his own mouth twisted in disgust. Madelyne was the daughter of his dearest enemy, as well as a woman prepared to embrace religious life. She could have no idea that her innocent beauty was enough to make a man hot with desire. . . even a man who had not touched a woman other than the occasional whore or serving wench for seven years.

Gavin pushed himself away from the window and folded his arms over his chest, pacing to the fireplace to stoke up the smoldering blaze. The sooner he turned the woman over to Henry, the better off he would be.

He poked at the charred logs that glowed with orange embers, releasing sparks and tiny tongues of flame. The short rainstorm had cooled the summer night and his chamber had become chill, yet he was not yet ready to seek the warmth of his bed.

When he received notification of where the royal court would be stopping for the next months, he would pack up his guest-and her erstwhile maid-and take them to Henry himself. And then, he would never have to see the woman with her calm gray eyes again.

The king would likely make her a royal ward, keeping her under his care or that of the queen in order to control the actions of Fantin de Belgrume. It was well-known of de Belgrume that he had greatly mourned the loss of his daughter and wife, and verily he would be more easily brought to heel knowing that his daughter yet lived. Mayhap the king might even find a way to relieve de Belgrume of his fiefdom, thereby putting an end to the madman's resources.

Gavin nodded to himself and replaced the long metal pole he'd used to tease the fire, refusing to give credence to the niggling guilt at the back of his mind. She would be better off at court, he told himself, ignoring the echo of her own explanation as to why life in the abbey afforded her more freedom. A woman such as she-beautiful, with lands aplenty through her father-was not meant to while herself away in an abbey.

Peste! He stalked over to the window again. What did he care of her future? He had a task to do-to bring her father under control-and the king expected nothing less of him to do so. If he felt guilt by taking her from the solace of Lock Rose Abbey, that was merely a sign of his own weakness and an uncontrollable factor in his doing his duty.

He stared unseeing over the world below, catching out of the corner of his eye the impression of dawn starting to lighten the sky. The cool tang of rain-filled air had evaporated, to be replaced by a bitter acridity of smoke. Gavin sniffed, frowning, then turned his attention to the town below.

Where the darkness should have yielded only the faint gray outlines of cottages and huts, a yellow glow flickered on the west side of the town.

By the time Gavin reached the village, crowds of peasants and men-at-arms had gathered in the streets. Three of buildings were ablaze, and sparks and flames leapt and jumped with such vigor on the gusty wind that 'twas only a matter of time until the next buildings caught afire. Though dawn was beginning to give natural light to the sky, shadows danced eerily over the faces of women and children who stood to one side of the street, watching as the men threw bucket after bucket of water onto the flames.