Gavin's jaw hurt. His teeth ground into each other, jarring slightly with the rhythm of Rule's sure-footed trot, as he focused his attention on the road in front of him-looking over the dark head that rocked below his chin and sent a faint smell of something floral to his nose.
He refused to think about the thick, shininess of that bare braid, or to admit that with one slight movement of his arm, he would brush against her ribs. Instead, he concentrated on what he should have been doing instead of chasing stags through the wood: delivering Madelyne de Belgrume safely to Henry's court.
He would not allow himself to be distracted by the memory of those lush lips beneath his, and the way her lids had slid closed over luminous gray eyes, fanning thick black lashes over her fair cheeks.
A spear of desire shot through his abdomen and for a moment he was helpless to the memory of her soft curves pressed against him and the tentative slide of her tongue over his. In sooth, he had committed his share of sins in his life. . . but surely this was too great a penance even for those.
He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, then gritted his teeth as the movement brought him in contact with Madelyne's rigid back. She'd been more silent than usual, ducking her head when faced by him whenever they'd met in the day they spent at Prentiss Keep, and now that they had been back on the road again, she and Patricka kept to themselves when not ahorse. The bit of spirit Madelyne had begun to show since leaving the abbey had disappeared, leaving her little more than the silent, serene nun he'd taken from Lock Rose Abbey. Verily, he'd frightened the wits from her with his clumsy, forceful assault in the wood.
He almost regretted it-that succumbing to his base urges-but, in all truthfulness, he knew he would do it again if he had to do it over. It had been so long that he'd embraced or kissed a woman that did not smell of the farm, or did not need to scratch the fleas and lice that infested her hair. And surely it was only that novelty causing his mind to spin with the memory of a soft, scented noblewoman in his arms-nun though she was. With a frustrated rake of fingers through his hair, Gavin vowed to find a clean, willing woman when they reached the king's court to flush this haunting memory from his mind.
He was pulled from his internal ruminations as Clem rode up next to them. Gavin was mildly surprised to note that he was not sharing a saddle with the dimple-cheeked maid Madelyne had insisted upon bringing and he raised an eyebrow. "Where is your charge, man?"
Clem's face ruddied slightly and he gave a curt gesture. "She insisted that to save my arm from further injury, she should allow it to rest as it healed. She rides with Jube. "
Gavin glanced back to see the pair in question, then returned his attention to Clem. "Does your arm pain you, and did you welcome the discharge of that custody?"
The other man straightened in the saddle, flickering a glance toward Madelyne. "My lord, you know that I would not shirk my duty. The mistress stated that she wished to spare me the pain of holding her in the saddle. I could not argue with her logic. "
"She is no light of feather," Gavin agreed.
"'Twas no strain for me to hold her, my lord. " Clem replied with indignation, "But if she prefers the company of Jube, then who am I to say her nay?"
Gavin shot a surprised look at his man, noticing that his wide, kind face was set in a shuttered expression. He seemed most irked that the chubby maid rode with Jube, but mayhaps it was only that he felt his mastery had been challenged by her fear of injuring him. Gavin frowned. Clem was not normally one to care what a woman would think of him-Jube was more likely to flirt and woo and court a maiden than Clem. And Gavin himself rarely even smiled at a woman, yet he'd smiled at Madelyne. . . sought her company. . . kissed her in the deep woods. . . .
Sighing, Gavin shifted again in the saddle. It seemed his thoughts always came back to the woman who rode with him. Praise God they would reach Whitehall this night, where he could discharge himself of Lady Madelyne and return his attentions to that which truly mattered.
The Court of Henry the Plantagenet was more hectic and crowded than Madelyne could have imagined. She forgot to sit forward in the saddle, away from Lord Gavin, in her amazement at the activity just within the bailey at Whitehall. And she did naught but gape like a peasant.
There were squires and pages dashing to and fro, dressed in the livery of the king, the queen, and other nobility. At the least, ten marshals rushed to greet Mal Verne's party as the horses picked their way through the crowded bailey to the stables. Men-at-arms strode through the yard in loud, boisterous groups, swords and mail clanging to the rhythm of their steps. Clusters of merchants hawked baskets of fruit, vegetables, and small cloth items, and Madelyne even saw peasant boys and girls chasing chickens, sheep, and goats about.
Gavin dismounted near the stables, and before reaching to assist her down, he turned and barked orders to three nearby pages. "Make it known to his majesty that the Lord of Mal Verne has arrived," he commanded one young boy. To another, he said, "See that lodging is prepared for Lady Madelyne de Belgrume near the ladies' chambers-on the order of the Lord of Mal Verne. " And to the third, he added, "Send word to Lady Judith Kentworth that Lord Mal Verne has arrived. I will see her anon. "
He turned back to Madelyne and, fitting his hands around her waist, lifted her from the saddle to the ground in one fluid movement as she wondered who Judith of Kentworth was. Before she even steadied herself, he had turned to Clem, giving curt orders about the care of the horses, the deliverance of the baggage that followed, and lodging for the men.
Madelyne stood to one side, watching him-his face intent and hawkish, his thick dark hair shifting with the wind, his stance tall and commanding. This was the Gavin she had first experienced-the harsh, shuttered man with nary a hint of humor or softness in his persona. She'd thought mayhaps that had been only a shell that had begun to crack in those days at Mal Verne, but now, it seemed that she was wrong. That gentle moment in the garden when he brushed her hair behind her ear, and confessed that he'd sought her out to enjoy her presence. . . and the bold, sensual kiss they'd shared after her rescue: those moments did not belong to this man, here and now. Mayhaps they'd been only of her imagining.
"Lady Madelyne. " His deep voice rumbled, tinged with annoyance, catching her attention over the cacophony of other arrivals and making a flush rise in her face.
She looked at him without flinching for the first time since he'd kissed her in the wood, and she struggled to appear unmoved. "Aye, my lord?"
He offered her his arm without another word, and reluctantly, she slipped her fingers over the sleeve of his mail hauberk. They'd taken several steps toward the castle entrance before he deigned to speak to her again. "'Tis unlikely the king will grant you an audience before the morrow, so I will send for you when he does. You may be called to serve her majesty in the mean while, and if that should happen and I cannot attend you, seek out Lady Judith of Kentworth. She is very kind and she will help you in my stead. "
All at once, panic swamped her. Madelyne swallowed, barely noticing that they had entered the castle called Whitehall and that they were making their way down a stone hall filled with people. Some called acknowledgements to Gavin, and others eyed them with blatant curiosity. A small group of ladies passed by, dressed in bright, sumptuous gowns, and looked in askance at her as they offered cooing greetings to her companion. Madelyne took small comfort in the fact that his response to them was as cool and unemotional as 'twas toward her, for her mind was on the matter at hand.
He was going to leave her here-at court-alone.
The stab of trepidation returned and she struggled to contain her panic. He wouldn't leave her if it wasn't safe, she told herself as he manipulated them silently down the hallway. She might be new and naive to the ways at court, but she would learn them. Remaining here, under the care of the king and queen, was far preferable to being turned over to her father. A shiver raced through her, and although Gavin glanced down, he said nothing.
As they walked along the hallway, Madelyne renewed her private vow to do what she must to remain under the king's care. . . and to return to the abbey for her final vows should the king release her.
"The ladies' chambers are there," Gavin spoke, coming to a halt at the commencement of a side hall. He paused, stepping away from Madelyne and allowing her fingers to slip from his arm. He appeared to be looking for someone, and she backed toward the wall, tucking her fingers into the sleeves of her overtunic to hide their trembling.
A faint musty smell from the damp masonry reached her nose, and she wrinkled it slightly, hoping that her lodgings would not be so chill. Gavin gave her a brief look, followed by a short gesture indicating that she should stay there, then started down an adjoining hall, craning his head this way and that.
Feeling bereft and out-of-place, Madelyne tried to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, leaning back into a small corner. She watched in silence as people continued to pass by, giving her nary a glance as they chattered, argued, or laughed.
A familiar squeal of laughter reached her ears just as Gavin reappeared at her side, and they turned as one to look down the hall from where they'd come. Madelyne felt her companion spew out a long breath, but he said nothing as they were accosted by a breathless, bright-eyed Tricky, who was flanked by Jube, Clem, and Peg-as well as several serfs toting trunks and cloth bags.