Chapter 8 #4
The sun had set. There was only the red glow from a nearby torch, and dim evening light through the small window of her room. His arm was raised against the frame, holding the heavy curtain. The strong muscles of his forearm, bound by gold, dusted with golden hair, were right before her eyes.
Madeleine shivered, and it was not fear. “Why do you not want to marry me?” she whispered.
“I have no desire to marry anyone, Lady Madeleine. That is all.”
“You are celibate?” She hoped the dimness hid her embarrassment at asking such a question.
She saw the white of his teeth as he grinned. “No.”
“There is . . . is someone you love but cannot marry?”
“No. There is no one I want to marry.” He put his hand on her back and gave her a little push into the room. “Good night, Lady.” He dropped the curtain between them.
The place on her back where his hand had pressed felt heated, as if she had rested it against the hot stones of the bake oven. Madeleine raised her hands to her burning face.
Why was she drawn to him? Why repelled? It was all beyond reason.
Dorothy had left water. Madeleine washed her hot face, stripped down to her linen smock, and lay on her bed.
She tried to think of the other contenders for her hand and property. Odo was out of the question, though the king could not know that. Lord Stephen, however, seemed an excellent choice. He was handsome, courteous, and witty. He sang tolerably of pleasant things . . .
But not as Aimery de Gaillard sang. His was an extraordinary gift, especially for a man whose trade was war. His voice was pure and clear. It was also expressive. When he’d sung of that dreadful battle, Madeleine had been transported to war. What would it be like if he sang of love?
Her body moved under the sheets, moved as it had under Edwald’s hands. This was madness, sweet, sweet madness . . .
She awoke in the night from tangled, heated dreams of blond outlaws, her aunt, and the king, aware of something of vital importance. Something she had seen, or half seen. For a moment it had been clear, but now it had disappeared like a summer morning mist.
When she woke again to a new day’s sunshine she remembered the urgency, but had no trace of the cause.
Aimery returned to the hall and found Leo.
Together they downed a number of goblets of mead.
Leo wanted to discuss the potential of Baddersley in the right hands.
Aimery was determined not to and raised the subject of hawking.
He was finding his response to the heiress distinctly troubling.
He was having to fight to hold on to his animosity and was even concerned about her future.
It was impossible to let her choose Odo. Even if she was willing to overlook his attempt at rape, Odo would be a heavy-handed husband and lord, almost as bad for Baddersley as his father.
Stephen would be better. He’d be kind enough to Madeleine as long as she didn’t question his amorous adventures.
He’d pay little attention to Baddersley, however, and he’d drain everything he could from it to send back to Normandy, where he had a small, impoverished estate of which he was very fond.
The thought of Madeleine in Odo’s or Stephen’s bed brought a bitter taste to Aimery’s mouth.
“What’s the matter?” asked Leo. “Do you have saddle sores?”
“Of course not.” Aimery sighed. “I’m just wondering how to turn the heiress off me without Father or the king noticing.”
Leo shook his head. “There’s no understanding you. You won’t even have the uncle and aunt to contend with anymore. Wasn’t that something, when the heiress let on what had been happening? Whipping three-year-olds, for God’s sake.”
“What?”
“Weren’t you there? She told the king that Paul de Pouissey had tied children to the post for whipping. William was livid. He offered to have the man flogged for her.”
Now Aimery recaptured his bitter feelings about Madeleine de la Haute Vironge. “That should be entertaining.”
“Oh, she declined the treat. He’s just to be sent to do his worst with the Haute Vironge property, which is in an advanced state of decay and in the middle of a war zone.”
“She declined?” Aimery said with a sneer. “You surprise me.”
“Well, perhaps she’s not vindictive.” Leo glanced at his brother, who looked as if he wanted to flog someone himself, God knows why.
He sighed. “A good sleep. That’s what we both need, though where, I’m not sure.
” He looked around the hall where some men had pulled out the straw mattresses and bedded down in their cloaks while others continued to carouse.
The king had invited Count Guy and his two clerics to share the solar. It was everyone else for himself.
“You’re right,” said Aimery and stood. “I’m going to sleep outdoors. Get the smell of this place out of my nose.”
Leo shrugged and followed his normally even-tempered brother.
They found a quiet corner not far from the stables and wrapped themselves in their cloaks. It was a warm, starry night, and Aimery looked at the patterns of the stars.
The little bitch. True enough, she must have some scores to settle against Paul de Pouissey, but to foist off on him her own crime . . . He could just imagine her sitting there telling the king all about it. She’d probably had tears in those big brown eyes at the terrible cruelty of it all.
But he’d confirmed the evidence of his own eyes. She had begged for the whippings and watched for a while before growing bored. When she heard it was time for the children to suffer, she’d run back to the window so as not to miss the show.
When would he learn? She was a vicious woman and all the more dangerous for not appearing so. By the Rood, he hoped she did choose Odo. He was just what she deserved.
The next morning, Madeleine dressed carefully for such a momentous day.
She chose a fine linen kirtle woven in browns and reds and edged in black.
As it promised to be hot, she wore no tunic.
Dorothy raised the folds of the full garment with a gilded girdle so a good section of creamy shift showed beneath the hem.
“There, my lady,” the woman said. “Fit for a king, if I do say so myself. Now the hair.”
Madeleine had Dorothy plait her thick hair. She was pleased to have worn it loose yesterday, but it was time to be decorous. “Weave in those red ribbons,” she instructed.
When her woman had finished, the fat glossy plaits were cleverly interwoven with scarlet and gold ribbons which bound the ends in an ornate pattern.
“Very nice,” Dorothy approved, and then surprised Madeleine with some extra speech.
“They say Lord Paul and Dame Celia are to leave, and you are to choose one of the men here to be your husband.”
“That’s correct.”
“It’s not right, a girl like you choosing a husband.”
“I’m allowed to choose from among only three,” Madeleine pointed out. “All vouched for by the king.”
“You’ll make a mistake. I know you will.” Madeleine turned, offended, then saw Dorothy was not really questioning her judgment so much as fretting.
“Why, Dorothy,” said Madeleine. “I think you care.”
“Of course I care,” snapped the woman, banging down the comb. “A girl like you. And such things as has been going on. A fine state of affairs. And now this.” She folded and refolded Madeleine’s blue tunic. “I don’t much like Odo de Pouissey,” she muttered.
“Nor do I,” said Madeleine, rather touched by this unsuspected side to the taciturn woman.
“Good.” Dorothy finally put the mangled tunic away. “Do you want a veil, my lady?”
“No, it will only get in the way, and I think I’m going to be busy.” Madeleine stood and twitched out her folds again, studying the maid. “What do you think of the others?”
“Don’t know.” Dorothy threw the washing water out of the window. “That Saxon one—the people here like him.”
“I suppose they do, but they don’t know him any better than I do.”
Dorothy straightened the bed. “He’s been here afore. Under the old lord, Hereward.”
“Ah.” Was that the problem? Did he resent her ownership here? Then Madeleine looked at her woman in surprise. “How did you find this out, Dorothy? Have some of the people here learned French?”
“Not them.” The woman snorted. “Or not more than to follow the simplest order. I’ve learned enough of their talk to get by. Had to, didn’t I, or how would anything get done?”
“And they favor Aimery de Gaillard, do they?”
“They favor one of their own.” Dorothy turned and scowled at Madeleine. “Well, go on. You’ve a choice to make, so go make it, and remember, when you’ve made your bed you’ll have to lie on it.”
Which wasn’t very reassuring when it was a marriage bed that was under discussion. Madeleine walked toward the hall thoughtfully.
So Dorothy, too, thought Aimery de Gaillard the best choice. Madeleine remembered how she’d felt last night in the half-dark, with his body warm and strong beside her. She tried to imagine what it would have been like if he’d leaned forward and pressed those firm lips against hers.
Would it be like it had been with Edwald? Just because he looked a bit the same didn’t mean he would have the same effect on her. Except that it would appear hedid. . .
She entered the great hall in a daze. He was talking to his brother. He really was a beautiful man.
He looked up. She smiled at him.
He smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They stayed cold. No, not cold. Hot with something very unpleasant. After a long moment during which it was as if they were alone in a harsh, forbidding world, he bowed.
“Good morning, Lady Madeleine. I hope you slept well.”
It sounded like a warning.