Tricky ignored Gavin and went directly to Madelyne, taking her hands with soft, pudgy ones, and giving a sketch of a curtsey. When she rose to her full, diminutive height, her face was shiny and apple-cheeked. "There you be, my lady! I made certain to wait for our trunks that they be delivered to the right chamber. " Glancing at Gavin, who hadn't done much to hide his faint annoyance, she spoke, "'Tis said my lord has enough influence in his majesty's court to procure a private chamber for you, my lady. "
Madelyne looked at him in dismay. It had not occurred to her that she might have to share a chamber with some of the other ladies of the court, and she waited, holding her breath, for his response.
"Do you not look so unsettled," he responded with a gentler tone than she'd anticipated. "'Tis the reason we wait here-I expect the page to return with word of your chamber-a private one for you, my lady, as your maid seems to think you warrant such. "
"Aye, and costly 'twill be too, my lady. But 'tis the least can be done for you that you do not have to share a chamber with the other ladies. " Tricky cast a brief yet pointed look at Gavin.
Madelyne's dismay turned to confusion. "Cost? But. . . what cost would there be-his majesty has requested-nay, ordered-my presenc
e here. Surely it is not expected. . . . " Her voiced trailed off as she saw the impatient look on Gavin's face.
"Lodging is available at no cost if you wish to sleep in the women's quarters, on a pallet on the floor, with the other scores of women and children who follow the court-"
Tricky interrupted boldly-not unlike a terrier fiercely defending her mistress against a lion in his den. "My lady cannot stay in such a public place! Lady Madelyne, 'tis the very least can be done for you to arrange for a private chamber since his majesty has required your presence here. "
"But at what cost?" she asked, acutely aware that she had no funds with which to pay for her keep. Her chest tightened as the reality closed over her: she was completely at the mercy of the ways of the court, and with no money, she was even more vulnerable. "I haven't-"
Gavin cut her off with a curt sweep of his hand. "Do you not concern yourself with such matters. You shall be lodged here, and clothed and fed in the manner befitting the Lady of Belgrume. The expenses will be managed by Clem-send you to him any costs you incur. "
Madelyne's voice left her as she stared at him in a combination of horror and outrage. "Lord Mal Verne, I cannot accept that you should bear the expense of my stay at court. " She twisted her hands, still tucked in the sleeves of her overtunic, but kept her voice quietly even.
He glanced at her as though she were a fly buzzing about his ear, his brows knitting together in a dark line. "You were brought to court under my care, and will remain thus until the king relieves me of such duty-thus your expenses will be borne by Mal Verne. " When she was about to speak again, he gave her a quelling look, his face hard-planed and dark with annoyance. "Do you not fear-Mal Verne can easily bear any expense you might incur. I'll hear no more on the matter. "
He turned away to speak with Clem, leaving Madelyne to glare at him in angry futility. The man had the unlikable penchant for snapping at one when he wished to hear no more of a conversation. She withdrew her hands from her sleeves and folded her arms across her middle, turning from him in frustration. She did not intend to be a burden to him-or to anyone else. She would return to the abbey as soon as she gained permission from the king. What reason could the king want her-a nun-to stay in his court?
An unexpected shard of pain caused her to curl her mouth as Gavin's words penetrated her thoughts. A duty she was to Gavin of Mal Verne-and naught more than that. When the king relieved him of his care of her, she would not see him again.
Whether that be a blessing or a curse, she did not know.
Chapter Twelve
"Nay, 'tis not right," Madelyne protested as Peg held a length of garnet-colored cloth alongside her face to check the color with her complexion.
The maid ignored her as she and Tricky clucked about, discussing colors and styles with the seamstress who had appeared at the door of their chamber the morning after their arrival.
"'Tis like the night sky!" Tricky breathed, sighing over a vibrant blue cloth shot with silver threads.
"Aye, mistress, and silver stars and moons embroidered on the cuffs," nodded the seamstress. Madelyne realized in annoyance that the woman had learned to disregard her protests almost immediately, turning her attention to the short, plump women who fluttered about their lady. The seamstress's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as yet another bolt of cloth was added to the growing pile of silks and linens and wools.
"'Tis not right," Madelyne spoke again, this time with more vehemence. "It's too much-the cost will be too great, and I do not need all of these gowns!"
This time, her objection was not ignored. Tricky turned to her with flashing eyes, surprising Madelyne with the indignation in her expression. "My lady, when I agreed to come with you, I vowed to care for you to the best of my abilities-to protect you and to serve you. I cannot allow you to dress in rags, or in clothing that belonged to another woman in another time. You must be dressed as befits your station, and you must adorn yourself with jewels and gold-else you will be eaten alive by the wild cats here!"
Madelyne blinked. How had Tricky become so seasoned with the ways at court, and from where had this stubborn streak come? "I am but a simple nun," she replied, "and I do not believe that you agreed to accompany me. . . I believe that you gave me little choice in that matter. " A wry smile suddenly caught at her face-mayhaps that stubborn streak had always been there, but hidden by a veil and prayerful hands.
"You are no nun yet," Tricky reminded her boldly. "And until such time as you make your last vows and shave your head, you must bear the mantle of your position. Even you, my lady, must wear the pretension of the Lady of Tricourten if you are to have a chance here. "
The seamstress bobbed her head vigorously. "Aye, my lady, you must listen to your maid-she has the right of it. And the Lord of Mal Verne has instructed me to clothe you in such a manner. I cannot disregard his wishes. " The expression on her face revealed that she was not so much afraid of his lord as she was loathe to lose the business.
Madelyne frowned and didn't reply, trying to forget her sudden aversion at the reminder that she would shave her head. She could demand that the women go, and leave her to her simple, borrowed clothing. . . but mayhaps that would be no more than slicing off her nose to spite her face. She would need every bit of influence in her favor if she were to gain permission from the king to leave his court, and to survive her stay whilst she was there.
She sighed, and the others, seizing the opportunity of her tacit approval, returned to their animated discussion of her clothing. The seamstress left, and by that time, Madelyne was at peace-albeit temporarily-with the arrangement. It would be a temporary allowance, and when she returned to Lock Rose Abbey, she could don the familiar gowns of black and blue linen. Absently, she allowed her fingers to trail over the smoothness of a pearlescent silk, reveling in its sleekness. 'Twould be no hardship to slip into the softness of a tunic made from this cloth, she mused guiltily. Snatching her hand away, she turned to the small fireplace and forced herself to say two paternosters and one prayer to the Blessed Virgin in penance for her frivolous thoughts.
Madelyne had barely finished when a knock sounded on the door. She started for it, but Tricky gestured her back and opened it just enough to peer out. She withdrew back into the chamber and announced in a voice heavy with formality, "My lady has her first visitor. Lady Judith of Kentworth requests an audience with my lady. "
Madelyne rose to her feet, smoothing her gown. "Tricky, please let her in. " She stepped toward the door to greet the woman who breezed in, followed by a young page and two maidservants.
"Lady Madelyne. " As she swept in, the other woman brightened the room with her smile and fiery, golden-red hair. She paused from taking Madelyne's hands into her own. "Do you not remember me?" Her laugh tinkled into the room as she moved forward, nearly stepping upon a stack of discarded bolts of cloth. "Our summer of fostering in Kent?"