Sanctuary of Roses (Medieval Herb Garden 2)

He swore silently, then buried his face in the ale cup again . . . but his gaze remained fixed on Madelyne.

Judith chose that moment to glance in his direction, and Gavin looked away too late. He felt his neck warm as he jerked his eyes away, pretending to look at the lute-player. His time would be better spent looking for a willing maidservant in the stead of gaping at a holy woman.

With renewed firmness, he turned away, his gaze scanning the rearmost tables for the comely maidservant he especially sought when at court.

"Who is the woman there?" asked Lord Ferrell, one of the men with whom he was seated.

Gavin swung to look at him and caught the eye of Thomas, who had a brow raised in question. Gavin gave a sharp nod, and his friend replied, "'Tis Lady Madelyne de Belgrume, Ferrell, lately arrived at court. "

"De Belgrume?" Ferrell's bushy eyebrows twitched in confusion. "The get of Fantin de Belgrume? I did not believe he had an heir. " He turned to look toward Madelyne again, and Gavin could easily discern the thoughts that bumbled through the man's head. "Did he not have a daughter who perished some years ago? And a wife too? Do you not tell me. . . . " his voice trailed off and he stared at the woman, his eyes slitting as his brows twitched. "'Tis not the selfsame woman, is it, Thomas? Where has he hidden such a beauty all these years?" He made to stand, brushing crumbs from his tunic and swiping a hand over his wiry gray hair.

"Sit down, Ferrell, and stick your pecker back in your breeches," Gavin drawled, shifting his shoulders to alleviate the tension that was gathering there. "The wench came from an abbey--she is promised to be a nun. "

Ferrell looked at him blankly, then returned his gaze to Madelyne. "'Tis a good jest, Mal Verne, but I vow, I've never seen a woman who looks less like a holy woman than that wench. "

"I brought her from the abbey myself," Gavin told him, a bit of steel creeping into his voice. "She's under the protection of the king. "

Ferrell frowned again, then sank back onto the bench where he'd been seated. "Bloody shame," he said sadly, bringing his cup to his mouth and slurping. "Bloody damned shame. "

Gavin's mind echoed those thoughts, and he swiveled to cast a last glance at Madelyne's table. His momentary relief vanished when he saw Lord Reginald D'Orrais laughing as he took a seat next to her.

'Twas heaven. . . pure heaven.

Madelyne sighed, pushing away the knowledge that, strictly speaking, it was a blasphemous thought, and closed her eyes. Strong fingers kneaded her skull, threading through her hair and loosening the ten braids that had pulled her scalp taut for hours. The dull ache gave way to relief and she sighed again, resting her head in the palms of her maid's hands.

Tricky's chatter flowed in and out of Madelyne's consciousness just as her nimble fingers brushed through Maddie's long hair. ". . . Never seen such food! I could barely choose betwixt the rabbit, the capon, and the roast goose. . . an' when they brought forth the stuffed pigeons, I thought I'd eat to bursting!" She reached in front of Madelyne for a comb carved of wormwood with bits of mother of pearl inlaid amongst the etchings on its side.

"How did you come by such a pretty comb?" asked Madelyne curiously. It slid smoothly through her hair, running over her shoulder and along the length of her back, past the edge of the stool on which she sat.

"'Twas a gift," Tricky replied smugly, maintaining her rhythm of long, sure strokes. "Whilst Clem and I were gone to seek aught for you to break your fast, we chanced upon a merchant showing his wares. I made such a moon-face of myself that he had no choice but to buy it for me. " She giggled girlishly, jerking Madelyne's hair in her distraction. She froze, smoothing her fingers solicitiously over the tender spot. "Ah, my lady, forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you. "

Madelyne laughed softly at her friend's enthusiasm. Since leaving Lock Rose Abbey, it had become clear to her that Patricka was in no manner suited for the life of a nun. . . nor was Madelyne any more certain that she was cut of a maid's cloth. "You didn't hurt me, Tricky, 'though such inattention could do so in the future. Nevertheless, you have worked such magic on my aching head that I would forgive you in a trice even if you had pulled my hair. " She sighed, smiling, suddenly in a delightful mood. "I shall remember not to ask you of your paramours whilst you have a brush in my hair anon. "

"Paramours! Hah!" Tricky nearly caught the comb in a tangle again, but caught herself in time. "Mayhaps one could name Jube such, but I do not care for that malcontent Clem at all. I wish only to torture the man, for he does naught but stand about and glower at me. I do believe he could be taking instruction from Lord Mal Verne. "

Madelyne felt her eyebrows rise at such a blatant criticism, but she could not fault Tricky for accuracy in her observations. Indeed, she had felt the weight of Gavin's surly stare that evening. Firming her lips, she reminded herself that 'twas she who had cause to be furious with him, rather than the other way around. Despite the fact that her heart had jumped into her throat when she'd turned to see him, and regardless of the acuteness of the memory of his lips tasting hers, Madelyne knew she couldn't trust those flighty emotions. She could not trust him.

For some reason, that realization pained her more than leaving the abbey. Emptiness and

unease settled around her, and the back of her throat hurt when she swallowed. Before the surprise tears could materialize, she stood and Tricky let the comb slip from her hair. Fighting sadness, Maddie walked toward the tiny fireplace, her eyes fixed on the orange flames. Peg had set the fire and it burned calmly in its little enclosure, whilst Peg herself snored on a pallet in the corner.

"Methinks my lady has attracted her own paramour," Tricky said slyly, shoving her comb into a small linen pouch. She pulled on the strings to tighten the opening of the bag and glanced at Madelyne.

"What do you mean?" Maddie asked, startled. A warmth that had naught to do with the fire suffused her face. She folded her hands in front of her and sat on the stool near the fireplace, looking over at her maid.

"Lady Judith had the right of it when she said you would attract attention," Tricky responded, busying herself by folding one of the tunics Judith had loaned Madelyne. "I saw many people staring at you, my lady-"

Madelyne relaxed. "'Twas no more than curiosity, Tricky. "

"Mayhaps from some, aye. But the tall man who sat next to you had more than curiosity in his face. " She spoke matter-of-factly, turning to open a trunk where the other tunics were stored.

Tricky could have no idea that her casual words sent Madelyne's heart sliding into a heavy ball in her stomach. "Lord Reginald? Why, he. . . . " She allowed her voice to trail off. He had been very attentive once Lady Judith had consented him to sup with them, his soft lips pressing lightly to the back of her hand upon introduction. His blue eyes glowed with warmth and humor, and his mouth quirked in a ready smile above the deeply cleft, square chin. "He merely wished to find a seat near an acquaintance of his," she continued firmly, recounting the excuse he'd given them upon approach.

"Mmm. " Tricky continued her business of arranging the bolts of cloth and other materials left by the seamstress. "From the back of the hall, where Peg and I sat, he appeared to spend more of his time conversing with you, my lady, than any other in the vicinity. "

Madelyne took a deep breath to calm the churning in her stomach. "I did nothing to encourage Lord Reginald," she said, defending herself without wondering why she should do so-most especially why she should do so to her own maid. But Tricky had been her friend before taking on the subservient role, and, in truth, aside from Judith, Madelyne had no one else to confide in.

Then, with a sinking heart, she recalled her forward actions of resting her fingers lightly on the edge of his sleeve as she leaned toward him to comment on a nearby juggler, and the overbright smile she rewarded him with upon his own jests. And, she remembered the sharpening of her breath when Lord Reginald touched her hand, or offered her a tasty bite of venison. . . and the increase in her pulse when he smiled at her so.