A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

Foolish, honorable man with whom she’d fallen in love.

Oh, aye. Alone, naked to herself, brutally honest, she must admit the truth. She’d opened the door and forced him to walk through it not only to free her from the bed of the king, but because she wanted Malcolm for herself.

“I will send to Mal Verne,” he told her. “He is your closest relative. Tell me true—will he have any reason to oppose our match?”

“Nay,” Judith replied. “Gavin would be pleased to see me wed. He has no claim to Lilyfare or Kentworth, and he has pressed me to find a husband more than once. And he knows you well, of course. ” She could hardly believe they were having such a conversation.

“And he is close to the king. I have much to do. Stay you here,” he said almost absently, pressing a firm hand onto her shoulder to stay her from rising. “I will send Father Anselm. The queen cannot tear you from sanctuary—”

“Eleanor will not stand for it,” Judith argued. “She will demand my attendance. ”

But Mal shook his head firmly. “She will not dare cross Father Anselm. Not now, not with the unrest rising betwixt her and Henry with Canterbury and the Church. The tension grows, and the rift between them is widening. ’Tis too dangerous for them to cross the archbishop—now. And,” he added with satisfaction, “the archbishop himself was present and witnessed to my writ, granting me the freedom to wed as I might. ”

He turned his attention back to Judith. “Do you remain here for this day. You will rest and sleep and eat. I will send Tabatha with a pallet and more food. And you will better be able to face the queen’s demands on the morrow. It will take some time for me to arrange things and I do not wish her to be suspicious or otherwise on her guard, for our wedding must happen quickly before they can stop it. ”

Darkness crossed his face and his jaw shifted. “As for the king…. ” Malcolm stopped, his lips compressing, his expression turning deathly cold. “I shall do what I can to keep the king distracted. He will not call for you this night. ”

Judith did not respond. Instead, she swallowed the thick lump in her throat and refused to look at him again. Pray God his plan would work. “Very well, my lord Warwick. I will remain here. ”

“I will not return,” he said, rising slowly to tower over her. “Nor seek you out. There can be no hint of our plan, Judith. But know that I will make the necessary arrangements. If you need to contact me, send quietly from Tabatha to Nevril. ”

He turned to leave, then paused, the sole of his boot grinding softly on the stone floor. “Malcolm. I am not Warwick to you, my lady. Only Malcolm. ”

The second day after Judith and Malcolm spoke in the chapel, her monthly flux began.

Her first reaction was one of wild relief and delight. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes and she had never been more thankful for the monthly inconvenience. She would not bear the king’s child after all! And, thanks to Lady Maris’s special tea—which Judith made certain she drank every day—that would likely not change.

But quickly on the heels of this great reversal of bad fortune came a dismaying realization.

There was no longer any need for Malcolm to wed her.

Ah. Thus and so is my prayer answered…yet again.

Now he could be freed of the black muck of her life, and he could go on his way and wed Beatrice of Delbring as he always intended. For it had not escaped Judith’s notice that, despite the wealthy beauties at court and the pressure from herself and the queen to consider other than Lady Beatrice, none seemed to have caught Malcolm’s eye.

I am not Warwick to you. Only Malcolm.

She shook her head. Nay. He must be Warwick to me again. And I must send word to him.

Judith sat down, suddenly cold.

As it happened, she was in her chamber alone in the midday. The queen, miraculously, had not summoned her this morrow because she and her ladies were meeting with a new fabrics master to pore over bolts and bolts of new materials—silks and fine cottons and even something called gossamer—from Antioch, Cairo, and Jerusalem. The news was that six wagons had brought the goods into the castle, and that another three more were imminent. Once, Judith would have been in the midst of such excitement—and delighted to be there. But no longer; the queen wanted her nowhere about during such an event.

Thus, she had the perfect opportunity to send a message to Malcolm. And yet she sat on her stool by the fire, staring into the anemic summer flames. Her lungs and chest felt tight and heavy. I am still trapped. And he will soon belong to Beatrice of Delbring.

Judith was not certain which of her two fates was worse.

A knock on the door brought her wearily to her feet. The sound heralded only bad news as of late and she dragged herself to answer it. What more could happen?

But to Judith’s surprise, Lady Maris stood on the threshold. “May I come in?”

“Of course,” Judith replied after a moment of confusion. She stepped away from the door and closed it behind her friend. “I did not know you’d returned. ”

“Aye. Only just some short while ago. ” Maris’s shrewd green-brown eyes searched her countenance. “What is it? You have been ill. I can see it in your face—you are thin and weary. You are with child, then?” Her voice was grim.

“Nay. Nay, I have just this morn learned I am not with child,” Judith confessed.

“But you are unhappy?” Maris’s tone was neutral, though her expression didn’t quite succeed in matching it.