A Lily on the Heath
Page 27

She does not look like a woman infatuated with her lover, Lady Maris had said.
Malcolm closed his eyes.
“I brought some food and drink,” he said at last, when he could no longer sit with his own thoughts. “Your maid claims you haven’t eaten for days.”
Judith pulled away, and though he was bereft at losing the scent and feel of her, he helped her sit on the floor, resting her back against the chapel wall. “Or slept,” she added.
Or slept.
Mal busied himself by pulling the strings of the wine skin free of his belt. He handed it to her and presented the cheese and bread. “Thank you,” she said, taking the offerings gladly. “I will do myself no good if I do not eat.”
“’Tis true,” he said. Then, after she had eaten some and quenched her thirst—and because he could not help himself—Mal asked, “You do not wish for the king’s child?”
Judith’s eyes flashed to him and he saw a quickly masked flare of heat and anger. “I do not wish the man to touch me, let alone for his seed to root within my belly. ’T may be treason to say so, but ’tis the truth.”
A roaring filled his ears, as it had done when he first learned she was the king’s mistress, and his vision clouded red. His hands were tight fists, his muscles so tense they pained him. If the king were present, Mal would gladly commit his own violent treason. ’Twas near impossible for him to get the words out. “He forced you.”
Now Judith played with the remainder of the cheese, turning it into crumbles in the lap of her skirt. “I was not willing. He knew I was not willing. But he cared not. Yet he was not…he was not violent. And I was no virgin. But one cannot say nay to one’s liege lord and king. The punishment would be far worse than this.” She shrugged, looking up at him again. Her pallor had some color now, and in her eyes he could see a spark of life. “I begged the queen to send me away—back to Lilyfare. She would not, for she intends to keep me as her slave until long after Henry is tired of me sucking his cock. Or so she has decreed.”
Mal caught his breath at the lewd image and closed his eyes. Rage and arousal battled within him, and he settled on rage. ’Twas safer.
Judith’s mouth moved into a flat line and she looked back down at the destroyed cheese. “And if I bear the king’s child….” She shook her head. “I would be tied to him—and to her—forever. Hence my fervent prayers.” She waved a hand to the room at large, then lifted the wineskin to drink once more.
When she pulled it away, her full lips glistened deliciously and Mal had to avert his gaze. Even unfed and unrested, even wasting away to skin and bones, even painting repulsive mental images of her in her lover’s bed, she was a gloriously beautiful woman. His desire for her washed over him, so strong and deep he could scarcely draw in a normal breath. Dog. You are no better than the king.
“’Tis a shame you’ve set your heart on Beatrice of Delbring,” she said, those lips curving in a humorless smile. “Else I should throw myself on your mercy and beg you to wed me and take me from here, and then no one would know if I carry the king’s babe or nay. I would be quit of him and this court.” She dug in the packet and pulled out a corner of the bread. “But, nay. Lady Beatrice’s heart is safe. I would not ask that of you—or any man. For the queen’s wrath would come upon you…and the king’s as well.” She bit her lip and stared down at the crumbling bread. “Henry claims he is quite obsessed with me, and that he shall never tire of my company.”
Mal was very still for a moment, and then his body rushed alive. Hot and cold and filled with hope, fear…and, God help him, lust.
“What of de Rigonier?” Mal at last found his voice.
Judith looked at him. Her expression had reverted to despair. “I would not ask it of him either. I fear the king and queen would—”
“Nay,” Mal said impatiently. “That is not my meaning. What of you and de Rigonier?” She shook her head, clearly at a loss. He tried again. “You were no virgin in Henry’s bed…was it de Rigonier?”
Her eyes widened. “Nay, of course not. ’Twas Gregory who took my maidenhead—who had the right to do so, as my betrothed.”
Mal’s tension eased. “You and de Rigonier are not lovers?”
“Nay.” Even in the dim light, the color rising in her cheeks was obvious. “I may now be called whore, but ’tis only that the king has made me thus.”
“I will wed you.”
She stared at him. “Nay, Ma—Warwick. Do not be a fool.” Her eyes were wide with consternation and regret. She reached to touch him, her small hand resting on his arm. “’Twas a jest. Only a jest. I would not allow it.”
“Allow it? You?” His laugh rang out, echoing eerily in the small, closed room. Yet, desperation surged through him. To be so close to his desire, to have it within his reach…. He would not allow it to be snatched away. “The king himself has granted me leave to wed where I will. You meet all of the requirements, Lady Judith. I will wed you, and take you from here. And none will know that you carry the king’s babe. I will raise him as my own. And you know I have no aspirations to the throne, nor to such power as a bastard prince would give.”
“Lord Warwick, I cannot….” she began. But she was looking away, down at her fingers twisted and wrapped within her cheese-stained gown. “I could not live, knowing you put yourself at such risk. Nay. We cannot.”
He could not see her face. But he didn’t care. Reason had deserted him. Reason and prudence. “You said it—’tis the only way you might escape your fate. I will manage it all, Judith. And we will wed.”
And even as she hesitated…then nodded, glancing at him briefly then looking away once more, Mal hardly noticed. He was flush, alive, alert, victorious.
And if he was no better than the king, at the least he would be entitled to her in his bed in the eyes of God and the Church.
TEN
I will wed you.
Even after Malcolm had gone and Judith was alone, she could not erase those words from her mind. They were the answer to a prayer…a solution of which she’d hardly allowed herself to dream. To be Malcolm of Warwick’s wife.
And yet she could hardly look at him, for fear he’d see the truth in her eyes. How she’d trapped him. Gently, innocently…but entrapped him nevertheless.
Deceitful woman!
I did not intend to lead him that way. She spoke silently, directing her thoughts to the image above her of the Virgin Mary, who surely thought her an unconscionable wench. And truly, Judith hadn’t been thinking clearly when the words poured from her mouth. She hadn’t considered what it would mean to him, putting himself at odds with not only the queen but the king as well. Nay, they had been foolish, capricious words, half in jest, half in despair…her thoughtless mouth running off on its own, leaving her brain behind once again.
And Malcolm, being the honorable man he was, would never deny the chance to assist a lady in distress. It was his responsibility. And part of what made him a good man…a man she had come to care for far deeply than she realized until now. For though he had offered her everything she wanted, she knew she must not accept it, knowing what it could do to him.
Thus, guilt and relief warred with fear and delight. She could be Malcolm’s wife.
Nay, I cannot do this to him. She couldn’t drag him into the mire of her life and affix him alongside her, betwixt the warring faction of queen versus king. He was a powerful lord, a wealthy and important baron—but just as easily, the king could find reason to disseisin him from his lands, to seize Warwick and his other estates. Throw Mal into prison….
Nay, I must not do this to him. Her belly, tight and empty for so long, felt heavy with the stones of nausea and guilt.
Judith felt the cold, hard floor beneath her knees once again as she rose upon them. She clutched the prayer beads so tightly they left marks on her skin. And she prayed for a different way, another answer to her petition. Show me another path.
Before Mal left the chapel, he warned Judith to say naught to anyone of their plan to wed. Not even to Tabatha. “I must make careful arrangements,” he said, his face intent, his mind clearly working. “So as not to bring the king’s wrath down on us.”
“There is naught you can do,” Judith protested. “He will be furious.” I tried again, she cried silently, arguing with her conscience. I tried to talk him from it, but he would not listen. Foolish, honorable man.
Foolish, honorable man with whom she’d fallen in love.
Oh, aye. Alone, naked to herself, brutally honest, she must admit the truth. She’d opened the door and forced him to walk through it not only to free her from the bed of the king, but because she wanted Malcolm for herself.
“I will send to Mal Verne,” he told her. “He is your closest relative. Tell me true—will he have any reason to oppose our match?”
“Nay,” Judith replied. “Gavin would be pleased to see me wed. He has no claim to Lilyfare or Kentworth, and he has pressed me to find a husband more than once. And he knows you well, of course.” She could hardly believe they were having such a conversation.
“And he is close to the king. I have much to do. Stay you here,” he said almost absently, pressing a firm hand onto her shoulder to stay her from rising. “I will send Father Anselm. The queen cannot tear you from sanctuary—”
“Eleanor will not stand for it,” Judith argued. “She will demand my attendance.”
But Mal shook his head firmly. “She will not dare cross Father Anselm. Not now, not with the unrest rising betwixt her and Henry with Canterbury and the Church. The tension grows, and the rift between them is widening. ’Tis too dangerous for them to cross the archbishop—now. And,” he added with satisfaction, “the archbishop himself was present and witnessed to my writ, granting me the freedom to wed as I might.”