The King's Mistress

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“Aye, Orrick. I do.”

“Marguerite is on her own for the first time in her life, with no one to protect her by name or position. She is testing to discover my limits. You know better than anyone that I have them, and so will my wife.”

Gavin nodded and the meal was finished in silence. There was much Orrick needed to do before he could leave again, and at least one conversation with his wife that he would rather not have. But as lord of these lands, ’twas his responsibility to carry out his duties, no matter his personal wants or needs. And his oversight of the abbey’s lands and lucrative salt lathes was part of that and could not be avoided or ignored.

Orrick stood and took leave of Gavin who was busy flirting with one of the servants. He’d postponed his meeting with Norwyn last evening and now needed to review the records here and give instructions for his absence for the trip to Abbeytown.

All through the day, as he met with his steward, the captain of his soldiers, and discussed the coming harvest with those who oversaw his farmlands to the south, his mind drifted back to the woman in the keep. Drawn by the vulnerability of her soft crying, he had watched her as she sobbed out her sadness. With the door between their rooms opened but a crack, he waited until she fell asleep and then carried her to her bed.

Although he had had his share of women, he was not experienced in the ways of love. He’d search his mind for words to say to her to make her understand Henry’s actions, but there were none. She was obviously so much in love with the king that she could not comprehend that his heart, if it ever were involved, had changed toward her. His plans for her certainly had and Orrick understood all too clearly his selection as her bridegroom—good bloodlines, loyal and far enough away to keep her out of the king’s sight and way.

Until she accepted that this was not a temporary stay, but her home, there would be no peace between them. Any hopes that Orrick had for a happy marriage depended on her giving up her hopes of the king calling her back to him. Lady Marguerite was not about to do that. Not now, and probably not for a long time.

He may not know love, but he knew the ways of the Plantagenets. Orrick’s father had watched them before him and, although he had no wish to be involved in the intrigues of the court, he knew them nonetheless. The king was a decisive leader, and once Henry had made the decision to give her in marriage, she was gone from his thoughts and certainly from his heart.

Now, all that had to happen was for her to learn that hard lesson. Tonight’s dinner would be the start of it.

Chapter Six

Pride filled his heart as he surveyed the hall. His people had put forth their best efforts in trying to impress their new lady. The rushes on the floor were new and freshly scented with herbs. The tables had been scrubbed clean and everyone present seemed a bit cleaner and shinier to him, as though they had all washed and dressed in their best. Even Gavin had shaved and looked more like an English nobleman than a Scots warrior-chief.

Now, they waited for Marguerite to arrive. She was late for the announced meal time, but Orrick was willing to give her a few minutes. He was drinking his second goblet of wine when she entered.

The wait had been worth it.

No longer the road-weary traveler, Marguerite had chosen a rose-colored gown that complemented her complexion. Now restored by a night and day of rest, she walked confidently to the dais and then up the steps until she stood before him. Her beauty nearly made him jump over the table to reach her instead of walking around it. Gavin must have known the impulses surging through him or seen the lust he knew must be clear on his face, for his friend cleared his throat loudly and Orrick understood the message.

Control.

Dignity.

Hell!

Orrick strode quickly around to her and held his breath as she lowered into a curtsy before him, as a dutiful wife would before her lord husband. He took her hand and helped her rise, still surprised by her behavior. He had expected some sulking and unpleasantness. Instead the perfect woman presented herself to him and his people.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, watching her eyes to see her reaction. Marguerite startled, but not enough that anyone but he could see it. As she moved to stand at his side, he entwined his fingers with hers and held on to her hand. He turned to the others.

“I thank you for your efforts in making this meal and this occasion a special one. Now, I ask you to make welcome my…wife, the Lady Marguerite of Alencon.” His voice broke slightly as he referred to her as wife for the first time before his people. Some of his servants had been with his family since before his birth and he felt a nervousness not known before as he tried to impress them.

Marguerite’s gaze met his and he saw the puzzlement there. Then he realized he had spoken in English and she probably had not understood a word of it except her name.

“My lady, I thanked them for making your first meal in our hall a special one. They have worked hard to make your welcome a good one,” he said in Norman. Continuing once more in English for his people, he said, “My lady does not speak our language, at least not yet, and so I ask you for your assistance in making her welcome.”

His throat tightened as the clapping began in the back of the hall and spread forward, getting louder as it did so. Some called out her name and some called out “Huzzah.” He smiled as he looked at her.

Marguerite lowered her head in an acknowledgment of their welcome and then returned his smile. Leading her to their seats, he was surprised again when she stopped near his mother and curtsied to her, as well. This sign of respect was not missed and the crowd cheered again. Marguerite hesitated only a moment when she caught sight of Gavin, and then she continued toward the center chairs.

Finally, they were seated and, with his wave, the servants first approached with a bowl of water for washing their hands. Then they surrounded the table to place platters of fish and fowl and beef and mutton before them. Warm loaves of white flour bread and tubs of freshly churned butter were delivered to the table, as well. Cabbage and peas, stewed with mustard seed and pepper, and boiled turnips completed this course. Orrick nodded and everyone began to serve themselves, each two sharing a trencher between them. Because of the occasion, Orrick had ordered that the silver platters he owned be used as well as the silver spoons for those at his table.

The meal commenced and he spent his time offering Marguerite the choicest of the foods placed before them. She smiled and accepted them with a grace he had not seen before. Conversations swirled around them and he translated for her. Soon, the main dishes were removed and the cook delivered some treats that he had prepared especially for this meal. A warm tart of apples and pears filled the air with the smell of cloves and cinnamon as it was brought to table. It was his favorite and he told Marguerite of it.

This was proceeding far better than he thought it would and Orrick found himself relaxing as he finished his wine. His wife was a changeable woman. Mayhap she had accepted her fate? Could this work out between them?

With those thoughts, others broke through. He had been aware of her throughout the meal. He noticed the smell of the soap she’d washed with and the softness of her skin when she placed her hand in his. Her glorious hair, wrapped into two long braids, still made his hands itch to touch it. When she leaned closer to share a quiet comment with him, he was sorely tempted to turn his face and take her lips in a kiss.

But one glance at his mother’s worried expression and he remembered what he wanted to forget—she might be breeding and he must know before he bedded her. Otherwise, as his mother’s words had warned, he would raise the king’s bastard as his heir and never know. Another whiff of her enticing scent and the sound of her husky whisper near his ear and Orrick was not certain that his mother’s way was the right one.

She was his wife and any son she gave birth to was legally his heir. Since he had raised no objection to the marriage, he had no recourse but to accept any child she bore as his. And if she carried a child by Henry and he made it known, only he would suffer embarrassment for her role as Henry’s mistress was known.

Marguerite raised her eyes to him and he reached over and pushed a stray tendril of hair off of her face. She did not flinch at his touch and even leaned into his hand, turning a casual touch into almost a caress. Heat raced through him and he felt a certain part of his body harden in response to her acceptance. His blood pounded in his veins and he knew that he would have her this night and not wait for an answer to the question his mother had raised.

His bride was no cringing virgin. She knew the ways of physical love and seemed to welcome his attentions. Mayhap ’twas best to get this first joining over quickly so that their fears and nervousness would cease?

Aye. He would not wait. He would have her.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Marguerite leaned closer and spoke to him.

“May I have your permission to seek my chambers, my lord?”

The urge to kiss her grew until he thought he would die if he did not taste her mouth. She smiled and waited for his answer.

Orrick cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, my lady. Mother, would you accompany Marguerite?”

Although his mother’s face hardened, she nodded and rose. Marguerite stood and curtsied to him. He noticed a blush creeping up from the fair skin of her chest where it was exposed by the cut of her gown, onto her neck and cheeks. He stood and kissed her hand once more and then watched her leave the table and make her way to the stairs that led to their chambers. His mother glanced at him before she followed his wife out.

He knew of his mother’s concern, but nothing could change the fact that Marguerite was his wife. He must take this important step in establishing their relationship.

“I guess the lady’s temperament has improved with some rest and good food, then?” Gavin’s words interrupted his thoughts.

“’Twould seem so.”

Gavin grabbed his arm and pulled him to his seat. “You must not appear too eager or you lose your advantage, Orrick.”

“What advantage?”

“You are lord here. Even when hot with lust, you must appear to be in control of your actions.”

“She is my wife and it is my right to have her,” he answered. Focusing his attention on his friend, he was puzzled by Gavin’s words. “Say whatever it is you hint at.”

“Do not be fooled by the display she presented to you and your people. There is more to her than a biddable wife.”

“And that would be…?” he asked.

“I do not know yet, but tread carefully with her.”

“Are you saying you think her a danger to me or to Silloth?” It was absurd, but he had learned to trust Gavin’s judgment. “Tell me what you suspect.”

Gavin took a deep breath in and let it out, looking around at those still at table and in the hall. Then he shook his head and spoke quietly. “Go. Wear yourself out in her bed. You are thinking with your cock now and my words will mean nothing until you have satisfied your need for her.”

He should not have been surprised by Gavin’s candid words, but he was. He began to argue, but Gavin stopped him.

“Your pardon, Orrick. Go. May you find joy in your marriage bed.” Before Orrick could speak, Gavin grabbed the jug of wine from the table, handed it to him and strode off.

His body reminded him of the woman waiting for him and he took one more look around the hall before leaving. The expressions of his people told him that they knew his condition. With nothing more to do or say, he carried the jug of wine with him and made his way to his chambers.

Her skin itched where he had touched her. Marguerite shuddered as she thought of his mouth on her hand and her wrist and the way he touched her face. Thankfully the meal had ended and, if she could endure the next hour, she would be free of him and his attentions for at least several days. ’Twas the reason she played this game with him now—let him have his way with her and then hopefully she could keep him away while she worked on a way to return to Henry.

She walked up the stairs silently. Edmee and his mother trailed her, whispering words that she neither could hear nor cared about. Soon she reached the third floor and walked into her chamber. Spying the door that opened into his room, she crossed to her dressing table and sat down. Edmee poured water that had been heating in the hearth into a bowl and brought it to her for washing.

The tension in the room grew as her mother-by-marriage remained at the door watching her. Finally, the lady ordered Edmee from the room and closed the door behind her.

“He is a good man, Marguerite.”

“Of course, he is, my lady.” She turned to face the older woman.

“If you give him but a small opportunity, he could bring you great happiness.”

Marguerite forced a smile to her face and nodded. “Of course,” she said again.

“But play him falsely and you risk great loss. He has been kind to you, making every effort to welcome you and to accept you in spite of…your past. Do not mistake his kindness for weakness or you will rue the day you underestimated him.”

“Have I done something to offend you, my lady? I offer my apologies for my behavior during our journey. I confess that I was overwrought due to the hardness and length of it.” She lowered her head and waited on Orrick’s mother.

“I am not offended, my dear. I simply offer my advice as one woman to another who understands the difficulty of being the stranger in a new place.”

Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted them. Marguerite rose and went to the door, ignoring the hard stare that followed her across the room.

“My lady, my lord Orrick is on his way from the hall.”

She waved the servant in and faced Orrick’s mother. “If you will excuse me, I would prepare for my lord’s arrival.”

Lady Constance came close to her and spoke so that the servant could not hear. “I know you are not a stupid woman, Marguerite. Heed my warning.”

Shaken by the implied threat, she would not give the older woman the satisfaction of knowing how the words had affected her. Marguerite used the look of startled innocence she had perfected long ago and blinked several times. The sound of Orrick’s approach prevented anything else from being said and Edmee closed the door after Lady Constance left.

Orrick’s steps continued past her door and she could hear his servant speaking to him. Marguerite stood before the fire and allowed Edmee to unlace her ties and remove both her tunic and the gown beneath it. When the girl reached to lift her chemise, Marguerite stopped her and waved her out.

She had not stood naked before a man in many months and she hesitated to do so now. She slid her hands over her breasts and her stomach and wondered if the changes were apparent to anyone else. Would he know she had given birth? Was there some way that a man could tell? ’Twas at times like this that she found herself wishing that she had someone to ask. Marguerite was so used to depending only on herself, that it occurred rarely, but still…

The snap of the wood in the hearth dragged her attention back and she realized that she was not alone. Turning, she saw Orrick standing in the shadows of the doorway. She could hear his breathing and swore she could feel his heat as much as that thrown off by the hearth. She would play on his desire and get this over as quickly as possible. Quick and over.

Her thin chemise allowed the light of the flames to pass through it and Marguerite stood so that the material became transparent. From his indrawn breath, she knew she was exposed to him. Reaching her arms up, she lifted her braids and tugged the ties from them. Shaking her head, she allowed her hair to unravel behind her. Orrick probably did not even realize that he had taken several steps toward her. It had never failed her in the past and it did not now.

He approached her stealthily, like a hunting cat moving in on its prey. He pulled the loose robe he wore off and stood naked before her. She could not help but admire his muscular form and masculine attributes. He fisted and opened his hands as he got closer and she shook her head again, teasing him. She knew she’d been successful when he took her in his arms and held her so tightly that she thought she could not breathe. Then he slid his hands into her hair and wrapped it around his hands over and over until she could not move.

His mouth was hot and wet and took hers. His tongue sparred with hers and he tasted of wine and lust. Although she stood trapped in his embrace, she was not idle. Leaning against him, she let him feel her body with his. She met his kiss and his tongue with her own and felt his hardness press against her belly. He was breathless when he lifted his mouth from hers and she closed her eyes so he could not see how unmoved she was.

Then, suddenly, he released her and stepped away. The air chilled her now that his heat was removed. Startled by his action, she watched as he looked over her from toe to head and then his gaze focused on her belly and breasts. His breathing was rough and labored and now she found hers matching it. Unable to stop it, her body tingled now under his gaze and moisture gathered in the place between her thighs.