Sanctuary of Roses

"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.



"Nay, Lady Madelyne, we shall not return you to the care of your father. In sooth, 'tis our plan to keep your wardship under our care until a proper protector-a husband-can be found for you. In the mean while, 'twill keep your father from razing the lands of our other barons and causing war among them whilst you are our guest at court."



"But, your majesty," Madelyne started desperately, ignoring the goblet of wine Gavin offered her, "please have pity-I have made a vow to God that I shall dedicate my life to Him!"



Gavin saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears and trepidation tauten her face, and he nearly reached out to touch her. How terrible it must be to have one's fate seized, he thought, suddenly realizing how accurate she'd been when she told him of the unusual freedoms granted to women in cloistered abbeys.



The knowledge that he'd been party to-nay, that he was responsible for-destroying that freedom she'd obtained crested over him like a dash of cold water.



Henry had turned to Madelyne and now looked at her with steely blue eyes. "My lady," he responded in his firm, monarchical voice, "we do not attempt to naysay God, but, as we have made clear, your dedication to Him has not been formalized, and thus we take that as a sign, from God Himself, if you wish, that 'tis not His desire that you do so. We shall hear no more upon it, Lady Madelyne." His voice had grown impatient, and he slashed his hand in the air as if to cut off any further protestations on her part.



"As you wish, your majesty." Madelyne stood humbly, shoulders straight, gaze slightly downcast, hands balled together at her waist.



There was a prolonged silence as the king sipped again from his goblet, and it was broken as he set the cup down deliberately on a small table near his throne. "Lady Madelyne, you are now a ward of the king, and you shall fulfill your duties here in our court by serving her majesty, Queen Eleanor. We shall collect a fine from your father-Burland!" he called over to the scribe who had continued to huddle over a table, scratching at his parchment throughout the entire exchange. The scribe's head popped up and he blinked blearily. "Burland, send you a notice to Fantin de Belgrume that we are assessing a fine as recompense for taking on the wardship of his daughter, Madelyne."



Gavin caught the glint of humor in the king's eyes and could not resist a small grin. Henry did not miss the slightest chance to add to the royal coffers in any legitimate manner he could fabricate. Fantin would be murderous with rage when he received the notice, and there was naught he could do but pay it.



He sobered as he looked at Madelyne again. She stood rigid as a statue, as cool and smooth and beautiful as a marble figure, silent as the men interacted about her. Again, a pang of guilt thrashed him, but he pushed it away. He was not responsible for the fact that she'd neglected to make her final vows, and that was the only reason she found herself in the current predicament.



"You are dismissed, my lady. We shall expect to see you with the queen's ladies hereforth."



"Thank you, your majesty." Madelyne made a graceful curtsey, then turned and walked stiffly toward the door at the other end of the room.



Gavin caught a glimpse of her set profile, but she did not look in his direction as she stepped past.



He looked at Henry, whose own gaze followed Madelyne from the room. "'Twould be a sin for one as beautiful as she to take her holy vows," Henry murmured with a wink at Gavin.



Madelyne heard the king mumble something behind her, but she was so close to tears that she dared not turn to see if he yet spoke to her. A low rumble followed the king's comment, and she presumed it was Gavin's response. She did not look behind to her to ascertain whether Gavin followed. She would find her own way back to her chamber rather than wait for him.



Holding her head high, she braced her shoulders at the door to the hallway. A page stood at the high oaken portal, opening it as she approached, and stepping aside so that she could find her way into the perpetual crowd that gathered out side of the chamber.



People milled about in the large, open area, and Madelyne hurried through the throngs without noticing any of them. Dimly, she heard the page announce the king's next audience, and then heard the door close firmly behind her.



She still clutched her golden skirt in her hands, but kept her attention focused on the floor made of large gray stones as she hurried blindly away from the people. She paid no mind to where she was going, knowing she would likely become hopelessly lost in the vast warren of corridors and passages...but at the moment, all she wished was to get away.



Her inattention caused her to stumble into someone, and she stepped aside, looking up to murmur an apology. When she raised her eyes up the tall form of the man standing in front of her and saw his face, she froze. All sensation fled her body, leaving her light of head and numb.



"Madelyne. How good it is to see you again." He smiled brilliantly, but she saw the odd gleam in his wild blue eyes.



She could not speak at first, just gasped for air as fear and loathing rushed through her heavy limbs. Where had he come from? "What do you want?" she managed to say with amazing calmness. "Were you following me?"



His smile turned chill. "Is that any way to greet your father?"



Madelyne noted with alarm that they seemed to be in an unusually deserted corridor, and her heart swelled into her throat. She raised her chin, taking care to keep her voice low. "You are my father only by an accident of birth. I wish naught to do with you, my lord, so please step aside." How could others miss that madness, that obsessive light in his eyes?



Fantin's hand snaked out to close around her arm before she could move past him, tightening into an immediate vise. "I'll not suffer such words from you, Madelyne." He jerked her once, quickly, but enough that her head snapped back. "Now, you'll come with me, daughter. After ten years, 'tis more than my right to take you under my care."



Quelling the nausea of fear, Madelyne jammed her heel onto her father's slippered foot and yanked on her arm. Although he grunted in pain, his grip was too tight and he curled his fingers around her arm even tighter, causing her to cry out in pain. "Let me be!" she cried, now hoping that someone would hear their altercation. Surely there couldn't be any place in all of Whitehall that was deserted for long.



"Be still!" he growled, propelling her down the empty hall, away from the faint noise of people. Her gown caught around her legs and she tripped, falling against the rough stone wall even as Fantin wrenched her arm to keep her on her feet. "I'll have none of your tricks!" he snarled as she slammed up into the wall from the force of his yank. Pain burst in her shoulder and along her arm.



"Unhand the girl, de Belgrume." The steely voice cut through the air like a sword and Madelyne's knees went weak with relief.



"Step aside, Mal Verne!" Fantin whirled toward Gavin, a hand going to his belt and returning with a glittering dagger. "I'll not have you in my way in this."



As Fantin manipulated them around, Madelyne saw Gavin through the fog of pain that had enveloped her. Even in her half-dazed state, she saw the rage blaring in his eyes.



"I said unhand her." Gavin's voice was calm, but the violence lacing it sent a frisson of fear down Madelyne's spine.



Fantin held the dagger steady in his outstretched hand. The grip on Madelyne's arm lessened as his attention swerved to the other man. "I suppose you think I ought to thank you for finding her for me, Mal Verne," he sneered, "but 'twas truly God's working and not any deed of yours."



They froze like two hounds taking each other's measure, then suddenly Gavin moved. Fantin gasped in pain as the younger man's foot came in contact with his wrist, and the dagger flew through the air. With one quick movement, assisted by the surprise and pain that immobilized Fantin, Gavin grasped the man by the front of his fine tunic and slammed him up against the wall.



Madelyne was able to pull free, and she retreated from the two men, rubbing her aching shoulder and bruised arm, and trembling from head to toe.



"She is under the protection of the king," Gavin gritted from between clenched teeth as his hand closed over Fantin's throat.



"The king?" Fantin's voice had a decidedly unmasculine squeak to it.



"The king," Gavin affirmed in a calmer voice. He made as if to release him, but then it was as if the anger swept through him anew. Madelyne could tell by the renewed consternation on her father's face just when Gavin's fury returned. "Methinks I ought to put an end to this now," he murmured in a terrible voice. "I ought to have finished you long ago."



Fantin's face flushed darkly when the band of fingers constricted, just as his own had around Madelyne's arm. "Your lack of success in doing just that is legendary, Mal Verne," he managed to gasp. "What makes you believe you'll succeed this time? 'Tis I who have God's strength behind me!"



Madelyne saw Gavin's stone face darken, tightening murderously, and she muffled a gasp as she saw his intent. "Nay, Gavin, nay! Do not! 'Tis not right!"



It was a long moment, and Madelyne fairly stopped breathing-but in the end, Gavin relented and abruptly loosed his grip on Fantin's throat. The man slumped to his knees, pure loathing settling on his face, as he looked around Gavin to shoot a poison look at Madelyne.



"Do you not fear, daughter-we shall meet again when you do not have your cowardly protector about. I'll not let anyone stand in the way of our reunion-mark me well." He struggled to his feet and smoothed a hand over his high, silvery-blond mane. Shooting a glare filled with loathing at Gavin, Fantin jeered, "Once again, sirrah, you have managed to hide behind the skirts of the king to get your way. Enjoy it whilst you have that advantage, for the king's might is naught compared to that of my Lord's."



His face just as dark and furious, Gavin forbore to respond. Instead, he merely watched as Fantin scuttled away. As soon as he was out of earshot, he turned to Madelyne. "'Tis no more than you deserve," he snapped, glaring at her as she rubbed her shoulder. "Do you not go unescorted through this castle-or anywhere-Lady Madelyne, or the next time, I may not be able to intervene. Have I not already warned you of that folly?"



"Once again, I owe you my thanks," Madelyne replied from between lips stiffened to keep them from trembling. He was right in his anger and fury; he had warned her.



"Come. I'll see that you reach your chamber with no further incident." He offered her a solid arm, and she winced when she raised her hand to accept it. "What? My lady, are you hurt?" Gavin stopped and peered searchingly at her.



"Only a bit of an ache on my shoulder," Madelyne replied evasively, still stung by his sharp reprimand, and stunned by all that had happened so quickly. She turned to continue walking, but he whirled her back to face him.



"Wait." The command gentled his voice as firm fingers gingerly felt along her arm, up along her shoulder. "I did not know he'd hurt you," Gavin said, his mouth tightening when she winced at the probe of his forefinger. He looked down at her, and Madelyne recognized concern in his gray eyes. Their gazes met and held fast as the world slowed.



Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly became acutely aware of the warmth and heaviness of the fingers that were now caressing her arm. Despite the haze of disbelief and bewilderment that had benumbed her since her audience with King Henry, Madelyne felt her pulse leap. Heightened sensitivity blaze throughout her limbs. When Gavin's other hand, large and brown, reached up to tuck away a lock of hair that had fallen from her coiffure, she thought she might stop breathing.



Her lips parted slightly, fulling, as Madelyne looked up at him, and she saw his eyes flare wider for an instant before they narrowed.



"The king has the right of it," Gavin said in a low voice, "you are much too beautiful to be a nun." His hand, which had hovered, raised, now lifted higher to slip a lock of hair behind her ear. He brushed along her jawline, sending warmth to suffuse her face.



Then, his words registered through her foggy mind and sanity reigned. "Too beautiful?" Madelyne stepped away, backing into the damp stone wall, then shifting to the right. "What has beauty to do with anything?"



Chagrin flooded his face and he dropped his hand back to his side. His features realigned into the familiar stone mask and his eyes took on a sardonic gleam. "'Tis no secret our king has an eye for comely women," he replied.



Madelyne tucked her fingers into her sleeves and turned away. "Then more's the pity for her majesty the queen. And again, I ask, Lord Gavin," she said, purposely using his title to reaffirm distance between them, "what has beauty to do with a woman's religious vocation? Must I mutilate my face or shave my hair in order to be allowed to do that which I wish?" She swallowed heavily, barely able to keep her voice from breaking in frustration.



"That would be a very foolish thing to do," he responded quickly. "His majesty has already made his decision, and 'twould serve no purpose to harm yourself so-only to cause yourself pain." He took her arm firmly-the one that did not pain her-and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. "Come, now, lady. I shall return you to your chamber so that your hurt can be seen to."