Mayhaps Tricky had the right of it. Madelyne bit her lower lip and reached for the rose-bead string of prayer beads that hung from her girdle. She would pray on her knees this eve in penance for her coy actions, and she would beg The Lord and The Mother that they would give her strength to keep from straying from her path. "Lead me not into temptation," Madelyne murmured, fingering the beads.
"Pardon, my lady?" Tricky's head popped up from where she had been stuffing clothing into another trunk.
"Nay, 'twas naught," Madelyne replied, looking down at her beads. This was the first time she'd meant to use them since leaving the abbey, though they had always hung at her side. She had prayed oft to The Father and the saints, and she attended Mass once a day or more. . . but she had avoided using her beads since Lord Gavin had taken her from Lock Rose Abbey.
She wondered suddenly whether he still had those beads she had given him on his first visit to the abbey. . . or whether they had been destroyed or lost. It had surprised and moved her that he still carried them when he came back to the abbey.
Her fingers worried the strand of scented beads, feeling the roundness of them and the tiny scores made by the little paddle she'd used to form them. Gavin's serious face loomed in her memory-the harshness and unyielding planes of his countenance melding into the intense, blazing expression that had been there in the glen, when he'd kissed her. His mouth had been so persuasive, so demanding. . . her body turned to liquid again, now, at the mere thought of it. She still remembered the thickness of his damp hair, smooth and heavy under her fingers, and how tall and hard he'd been. . . how safe she'd felt.
Madelyne shook her head violently as if to chase the remembrance away. How could she be thinking of such a thing? She was meant to be a nun-she had vowed her life to God-and she should be on her knees begging forgiveness for her transgressions of this evening, not mooning over the memory of another sin.
Sin.
Dear God, it did not feel like a sin.
Chapter Fourteen
"Your majesty. . . Lady Madelyne de Belgrume. "
Gavin watched as Madelyne glided forward and sank into a deep, graceful curtsey. He stood to the side in the king's private court room, near the clerk, and leaned against the table at which the clerk scratched royal edicts onto parchment paper. He had arrived at Madelyne's chamber a short time ago to escort her to Henry's presence. She'd spoken little to him, and he'd returned the favor in kind.
Madelyne rose upon the king's invitation, and pressed a kiss to his ringed forefinger before stepping slightly back. Her graceful neck was bare again-long and slim and white, with tendrils of stark blackness wisping about her nape-and she wore a fine gown of goldenrod covered by a pale yellow overtunic. The lack of jewelry was the only indication of her status as a nun and not the well-landed heiress she could aspire to be.
"Your majesty, I am grateful for the invitation to your presence," Madelyne said in a clear voice.
Henry stood next to his massive oaken throne, his golden-red hair glinting in the sunlight that streamed through three wide slits in the wall. "We are as pleased to offer the invitation as you purport to be grateful. " He stepped away from the chair and across the dais to place his hands on the back of the empty throne that belonged to Eleanor. "'Tis our understanding that you have sought sanctuary in an abbey? For ten years?"
Madelyne nodded. "Aye, your majesty, my mother and I found refuge there after leaving Tricourten. " She clasped her hands in front of her.
Gavin frowned. "Your mother is dead, as you told me, Lady Madelyne. " He stepped away from the table on which he'd been leaning and took several steps closer to Madelyne, so that he could see her face.
Henry flashed a look at him, then transferred his stern stare to Madelyne. "Is this true? Your mother no longer lives?"
"Aye, 'tis true. Mayhap I was not clear in my answer, your highness. My mother and I made our way to Lock Rose Abbey, and she perished some three years after we arrived there. "
"Why did you not return to your father at that time?" Henry paced across the dais, in front of the two thrones, his steady gaze focused on Madelyne.
Gavin saw her draw in her breath, oh so slightly, and then slowly release it before she replied. "Your majesty, my mother and I left Tricourten because she bore the ill will of my father, and the weight of his hand. I dared not return, for fear that he would take out his anger on me. . . and, in sooth, I had not the means to return, nor did I know where Tricourten was. I was only ten summers, your highness, when my mother and I left. "
Henry pursed his lips, pinching the lower one with his right thumb and forefinger. "'Tis not uncommon for a man to beat his wife to guarantee her obedience. . . still, we do find it rather ambitious that your mother was able to plan such a successful escape. By all rights, Lady Madelyne, you should be returned to your father's care. "
Gavin saw her face turn to white, and her mouth pinched at the corners. He felt something akin to sympathy for her: she obviously had a great fear of Fantin de Belgrume.
"Your majesty, I pray that you would reconsider such a thing. " Madelyne's voice, though calm, was a bit breathless with anxiety. "I have spent these last ten years in an abbey, cared for by the good sisters, and I have chosen to embrace the life of a religious woman. Indeed, I should never have left had you not requested my presence. "
The king raised one eyebrow, glancing at Gavin archly. Returning his attention to Madelyne, the king asked, "You are a nun? You have taken your final vows?"
The long white column of her throat constricted. "Nay, your majesty, I have not shaved my head and taken my last vows, though 'tis my intent-"
"You have not yet taken your vows? Verily, you are not a nun. " Henry waved her protest aside with a large, beringed hand.
"Your highness," Madelyne began, "'Tis my intent-"
"Your intent has laid unmet for ten years, my lady. " His gaze was as shrewd as his words were pointed, and Gavin felt a bit sorry for her. "You have had ample opportunity to make those vows, and as you have not seen fit to do so, then we shall make the choice for you. "
Her eyes widened and her face became even paler. "You would return me to the custody of my father?" Her hands were clenched in front of her, the knuckles graying as her fingers curled together.
"Nay. " Henry stepped down from the dais and across the room to a small table where he poured himself a goblet of wine. "Gavin, serve yourself and Lady Madelyne," he commanded, stalking back onto the dais.