A Whisper Of Rosemary

Henry glanced at Dirick, who stood next to him, then turned his regal gaze back onto Maris. “About this charge of treason, my lady. You do realize that the sentence for this crime is hanging?”



She swallowed, refusing to look at the dark haired man who stared at her mockingly. “Your grace, I—I may have misspoke myself and—and may not have fully considered the situation. I withdraw my accusation—for the time being,” she added with spirit, still keeping her gaze averted from Dirick.



The king nodded. “Aye, then. I think that a wise decision.” He stroked his beard with thick fingers as if deep in thought. “You’ll pledge your fealty to me three days hence, Maris of Langumont.”



The king might have continued speaking had there not been an urgent knocking upon the chamber door. The sole page left in their presence hurried to answer it, and Henry looked on curiously.



“Your majesty.” A royal messenger entered and swept toward the king, his bow fluid and elegant.



“Rise, Merren. What brings you in such haste?”



“’Tis terrible news. But mayhap I am interrupting?” The lanky messenger glanced at Maris, giving an expectant pause.



Henry nodded then turned to Maris. “My lady, you may return to your chambers. I will expect to see you at supper this eventide. In fact, you shall find your place as my guest this night.”



“Thank you, my lord,” she managed to stammer, stunned by his invitation and disappointed that she would not hear what terrible news the messenger brought. Picking up her skirts, she turned, avoiding making any eye contact with Dirick, who now leaned casually against the throne chair. It was not lost on her that she, and not Sir Dirick, had been asked to leave the king’s chambers.



Nervous worry and indignation accompanied her movements as Maris made a curtsey to the king. Nevertheless, she walked unhurriedly to the chamber door, acting for all the world as if she had not conducted herself the complete fool in front of her liege lord.



When Maris felt rather than heard the heavy door close behind her, she released her breath in a forceful whoosh of relief.



“Lady Maris?”



A voice from behind startled Maris. She whirled, embarrassed at being observed in such an informal state. A woman, mayhap a few years older than she, stood near one of the torches that lit the hall. She had an aura of ease and peacefulness about her, and the smile she bestowed on Madelyne was warm and friendly.



“Yes?” Maris recovered and looked imperiously at her. How could the woman know her name? She’d arrived at court less than two hours ago and had gone nowhere but to her chamber. Was she trying to be friendly, or was she looking for gossip to spread among the court?



“I am Lady Madelyne of Mal Verne. My husband, Lord Gavin, is a confidant of the king and I am visiting briefly as lady in waiting to Queen Eleanor. Her highness bade me bring you to her upon your dismissal by the king.” She gestured toward one of the hallways leading from the entrance to the royal chambers.



“Queen Eleanor?” Somehow, the thought of meeting that great lady was far more imposing than meeting her husband. “What would the queen wish of me?” Maris found herself falling into step alongside the other woman. “I’ve only just arrived at Westminster this day.”



Madelyne gave a dainty shrug, her gray eyes like luminous moonstones. “I am not privy to her majesty’s intentions, but had I to make a guess, I’d expect she should like to determine if you’ll do in her court. Come, now, she awaits—and her highness is not known for her patience.”



CHAPTER SIXTEEN



The harsh wind of April whipped violently, stinging Dirick’s cheeks and nose. He pulled the fur lining of his cloak closer, burying his mouth in its warmth. Merren, the royal messenger, rode just ahead of him, setting the urgent pace.



If he had no need for haste, Dirick would have waited a day or two for the spring weather to change to something more comfortable. He’d still be at court and partaking of a warm, filling meal in the Great Hall. Course upon course of food prepared for the purpose of impressing the king would be served to his court. Jesters and troubadours would take their turn at entertaining the ladies and lords who gathered at the king’s pleasure—including the lately arrived Maris of Langumont.



Even in the frigid winter air, the thought of that woman made his blood boil.. She had more brash than a stallion in heat, and more feminine guile than Queen Eleanor. The manner in which Maris had turned those wide golden brown eyes toward his sovereign and blithely declared Dirick a traitor…and then, mere moments later, simpering that it had been an error….God’s nails, was the daft woman out to see him hanged or merely thrown in a dungeon for life?



Over the last months since returning from his adventure in Breakston, Dirick had come and gone from the royal court while investigating the murder of his father and the other similar victims. It had been most fortunate that he’d been not only at Westminster, but actually with Henry when news of Maris’s arrival was brought to the royal chamber. Dirick had already apprised his liege of the events that took place at Langumont and at Breakston. The only part he’d declined to share was the description of Maris’s last revenge upon him.



Henry had been in an energetic, jovial humor today and had called for Maris to attend him immediately. To Dirick’s surprise, he’d invited him to stay for the audience. It might have been more prudent for him to have announced his presence immediately, but the perverse woman had such a contrary effect on him that he wanted the advantage of surprise.



She was still the beauty his mind had conjured and conjured again over the past several moons. Even travel weary and worn as she must have been, and dressed in fashions that the court had not seen since King Stephen, Maris of Langumont would have outshone any other lady at court had one been there to see her. Mayhap the exception would be Queen Eleanor…but Maris would indeed cause all to look twice or thrice at her, even in the presence of the queen.



Aye, the woman was beautiful…and spirited…and resourceful...and, aye, intelligent—though most men would not consider that an asset. She was also a drain on his patience and overly spirited, as well as tart-tongued and sharp. It occurred to Dirick, just then, how many times he’d privately vowed to strangle Maris of Langumont and he gave a little laugh.



“My lord,” Merren’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Draw near me now and I’ll show you the scene.”



All thoughts of Maris driven from his mind, Dirick urged Nick abreast of the messenger’s mount. “The bodies are here?”



“Aye, lord, there.” Merren pointed to two lumps that were covered with a smattering of snow.



They approached the bodies of Sir Harris of Bristol and his squire, the news of whose deaths had interrupted the king’s audience with Maris. When Henry learned that they had been found in a state similar to that of Harold of Derkland, he’d sent Dirick posthaste to the scene of the murders.



Now, Dirick dismounted, commanding Nick to stay, and gingerly moved toward the larger body. The new snow that covered the man was not heavy enough to obliterate the splashes of blood that colored the old, crusty snow. Nor was the posture of the man, and that of his squire, to be mistaken.



It was just as it had been described in the earlier events: both men were face down, sprawled on the ground, with their arms bent awkwardly above their heads, each hand meeting that of the other man. It looked as though they’d fallen from some great height while clasping each other’s wrists. Sir Harris’s neck was broken, and his throat slit so that his head flipped back eerily onto his shoulders, blank eyes gaping up into the falling snow.



“Try this, my lady.” Agnes knelt at Maris’s feet, holding a finely crafted leather slipper.



Maris slid a foot into the embroidered shoe, then the other into a second. “’Tis a good fit,” she mused. “I was not so certain in light of the haste in its making, but Lady Madelyne assured me the shoemaker would meet my needs.”



“Aye, and the seamstress as well,” nodded her maid as she stood to survey her mistress. “The gown becomes you, lady.”



“At the least it is more stylish,” Maris replied with a shrug. Yet, she was more pleased than her words indicated.



Upon Lady Madelyne’s suggestion, she’d retained a tailor and his seamstresses to create a gown from the store of material she’d brought from Langumont. Now, only two days after her arrival, she was dressed more like the other ladies clustering about the queen in her chambers.



The undertunic and bliaut were cut to fit more closely than her old gowns, making her feel a bit self-conscious about how well they molded to her hips and breasts. The girdle of gold links wrapped thrice about her waist, and its ends dangled nearly to the floor. And the sleeves of her pine hued bliaut were so long and wide that Agnes had tied knots in the ends of them so that Maris would not tread upon the yellow and orange embroidery that decorated their cuffs.



A heavy necklet of rubies and one large emerald sat about her neck, and three rings adorned her hands. Though Maris never wore such amounts of jewelry at Langumont, Allegra had warned that she must decorate herself so at court, else the strength and wealth of her title be questioned. Agnes had plaited her long red-brown hair into four braids and stuffed them into heavy gold hair-cases, then covered her head with a fine gold veil.



A knock came at the door and the maid opened it to find Lady Madelyne, along with her cousin by marriage, Lady Judith of Kentworth.



“You look lovely,” Madelyne said, her moonstone eyes lighting with approval. “I cannot believe how quickly the seamstresses worked.” Her hand rested on a subtly-rounded belly that rose beneath her own gowns, hardly noticeable in the voluminous folds of her skirt.



Judith, whose coppery hair shone from beneath a sheer wimple, agreed. “It isn’t that you weren’t dressed finely before, but now those lady cats can sheath their claws and keep their comments about country mice to themselves,” she said. “Although,” she added, looking at Maris with dancing blue eyes, “I suspect that you would have no problems clipping any claws that came too near you. Verily, that emerald is the size of a goose egg!”