Chapter 18
He released them, but it was clear she had only one acceptable destination. If she attempted any other it would be back to finger-breaking. Madeleine stalked ahead of him toward their chamber. The queen’s intention had been perfectly clear. Would he try to take his ease on her body again?
Once in the room and with the door closed, he stood against it with his arms folded. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Wrong?”
His suspicious eyes judged this innocent response and found it wanting. “I was surprised to see you here. You can’t have been as surprised to see me. So why were you snarling at me down there?”
She turned away. “I can’t help but wonder when I find you have accepted a position at the queen’s court with never a word to me. What exactly is your role here?”
“Marshal. My messenger must have crossed your party.” He was close behind her.
His hands were on her shoulders before she expected them, sending a shock of feeling she could not disguise.
It was combined with another shock. Marshal?
He was in charge of the queen’s journey north?
Surely she couldn’t allow this. Not when she knew him to be plotting against the king.
She resisted his hands, but he turned her around.
He saw her expression and frowned, but then smiled. “Could it be you’re jealous?”
Madeleine opened her eyes very wide. “Is there someone I should be jealous of?” He was feeling amorous, damn him. So was she, but she had a vow which held even more strongly now. What was she to do?
“That’s for you to find out,” he teased.
“Having a wife along will doubtless restrict my activities. I don’t know.
I’ve never tried it before.” His hands flexed gently over her collarbones.
His knowing fingers played at her nape. Madeleine could feel her wanton body fight the restraints she was forcing on it.
Her breathing could not be controlled, nor her color. She saw his eyes darken, his cheeks flush with desire . . .
She twisted out of his hold and stalked across the room. “Don’t let my presence bother you too much,” she said tartly. “I have a job to do, and so do you. I doubt we’ll see much of each other.”
It was as if she’d pulled a weapon on him. His eyes turned cold, and he moved as a man moves with a sword.
“Do you?” he said, stalking her. “Yet you’ve traveled with a court and know how it will be. Especially with a heavily pregnant woman. Slow, stately, lots of time for . . . amusements.”
He was barely an arm’s length away, and she had placed herself against the wall with nowhere to retreat. He’d warned her about that. She tried to hold him off with words. “I’m not going to allow you to use my body.”
He stopped. “Allow?”
Madeleine swallowed but did not reply. She was breathing in deep drafts as if fighting for her life.
The danger passed and he relaxed, looking merely curious. “Is this because of the last time, and what I said? I confess, I didn’t want to admit how much I desired you that day. I thought I’d made it up to you. If not, I will.” He moved a relaxed step forward.
Madeleine whipped out her knife. His knife. His gift. “I have vowed not to lie with you.”
He froze. “Unless you intend to try to kill me,” he said quietly, “put that away.”
Madeleine didn’t know how she had come to this pass. He was angry now as she’d never seen him. Coldly angry. With every sense alert for the disarming she knew she could not avoid, she said, “You taught me to defend myself against rape.”
He was absolutely still. “A man can’t rape his wife.”
“Call it what you will. My body will feel the same.”
She could see his chest rise and fall with every breath he took. “I give you my word, Madeleine, I will not force you. Put away the knife.”
“You gave me your word you’d not fight for the rebels!” she cried with all the agonized betrayal in her soul.
But that moment of anger fractured her concentration. His foot brought her down as his hand wrenched the blade free and sent it spinning to quiver in the wooden wall.
Madeleine was flat on her back at his feet. She closed her eyes. What now? Rape? A whip? Both?
Eventually she couldn’t bear the waiting and looked hesitantly up the long length of him till she found his set, somber face. “Never do that again,” he said, then turned and left the room.
Madeleine rolled over and buried her head in her hands. She wished she could weep, but her grief was a cold stone in her chest, not liquid at all.
Eventually, she pushed wearily to her knees and then to her feet. She saw the knife in the wall, and went to take it. It would not pull free. She had to work with both hands for some time to get it out. The depth to which it had been driven into the oak told of his leashed fury.
He hadn’t touched her. Perhaps he hadn’t dared to.
And she would have the battle to fight again next time.
Madeleine didn’t know where Aimery had gone, but she knew he would have to return. She dreaded that moment.
She picked up a book, then needlework, but could apply herself to neither.
She ran over the quarrel again and again in her mind.
She shouldn’t have bared a blade, but she was honor-bound to uphold her vow to the death.
If he tried to demand his rights, she would have to do the same again. She shivered at the thought.
He had promised not to force her. But he’d promised not to fight for the rebels, and she’d heard him say he would help Hereward . . .
He wasn’t actually fighting for the rebels, but he’d never promised not to work for them, help them, spy for them.
All this meant she might be able to trust his word, but in other respects it terrified her. Exactly what service was Aimery de Gaillard doing for Hereward the Wake as marshal of the queen’s party?
The light was going when Dorothy tapped and entered coyly. The woman stopped, astonished to find Madeleine alone. She had brought a jug of hot water and some food and wine.
“Lord Aimery just left for a few moments,” Madeleine explained, then saw Dorothy take in her undisturbed clothes and the undisturbed bed.
Madeleine was still in full court dress after over two hours here, supposedly with her husband.
There was no explanation to offer, so Madeleine tried none, but allowed Dorothy to undress her.
When she was in her shift, Madeleine remembered the armband and hurriedly requested the woman to brush her hair.
She had to get the band off. It would be infinitely better to reveal her foolishness to Dorothy than to Aimery, but she hoped to avoid both.
How soon could she reasonably tell the woman to stop the brushing and leave?
She was about to speak the words when Aimery walked into the room. He checked himself slightly but then continued in. “Dorothy, I hope you are comfortably situated here.”
Dorothy bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Lord.”
“Good. You may seek your bed then.”
Madeleine thought of objecting, but it would merely postpone the confrontation.
When the door closed on the woman, he said nothing.
He ignored Madeleine, casually stripped off his still-dusty clothing, and dropped it in a corner.
He’d never stripped in her presence before.
She’d longed to see his naked body, but now it was an insult.
He kept his belt in his hand and took a key out of his pouch.
He went over to his jewel chest and opened it to put away his ornaments.
She saw him frown thoughtfully and look around.
There was no putting it off. She tried to ease her shift up slowly and slip the armband off but found she needed two hands to loosen it.
He watched, astonished.
She held it out, helplessly silent.
He took it and considered her bare leg thoughtfully.
Madeleine drew her skirt down and climbed under the bedcovers. He placed his bracelet in the chest and locked it, then came over and joined her in bed, not touching.
“You believe I will not rape you,” he said flatly.
He was an ominous presence, and yet she did trust his word. “Yes.”
“That is something.” He turned away to sleep.
A bell woke the household the next morning.
Madeleine was surprised to find she had slept, but a day’s traveling and all the subsequent strains had finally pushed her into oblivion. Aimery had appeared to sleep immediately, but if so he had slept long, for the bell dragged him unwillingly from sleep.
He stretched, touched her, flinched away.
Warily, their eyes met. He looked away, up at the canopy. “What is this vow you have made?”
Madeleine also looked up, at a spot some two feet from the spot which interested him. “Not to lie with you until I am sure you are loyal.”
“You’ve lain with me all night,” he pointed out.
“You know what I mean.”
“I wondered how literal you were going to be.” There was a trace of humor in his voice. She sensed he was going to try a softer approach and she steeled herself against it.
“It is a vow, and I will keep it,” she said firmly. “You must be true to the king.”
“I promised not to rape you, and you laid down with me in a bed. If I give you my word that I am completely loyal to William, will you not believe it?”
Madeleine closed her eyes. “How can I?” she asked wearily. “I heard you with my own ears promise to help Hereward.”
She felt the bed move and looked to see him standing there, naked and beautiful. And cold. “You needn’t worry about your vow,” he said. “I will not lie with a woman who will not take my word as true.”
He turned away, pulled some clothes out of a chest, and dressed.
As he buckled his belt he spoke in the calm, detached voice which had become so familiar to her during those terrible weeks at Baddersley.
“The queen fancies us lovebirds, however. It would be cruel to disillusion her, especially so late in her pregnancy, when I understand all women, even queens, are inclined to be emotional. If I can play the part in public, can I expect you to cooperate?”