Madelyne turned in her perch on the stool, looking up at the befreckled face of her companion. “Tricky, of course you may stay with me. Indeed, I am gratified that you should wish to…and I will relish having a friend rather than a maid at my side.” She reached for her hand and squeezed.
Patricka smiled, tears springing to her eyes in big, large drops. “Thank you Madelyne. I am meant to be your maid, though. I hold no title and have no other attribute to commend me. I truly wish that, for you are a friend as well as a mistress.”
“Indeed. As you wish—but you must call me Madelyne when we are alone. I do not wish to have that distance between us.”
Tricky hugged her from behind, then returned to the task at hand. “Now, Madelyne, tell me what you feel for handsome Lord Reginald. ’Tis said throughout the court that he woos you and presses his suit to the king. There are others who would do the same, you know, but he is the most vocal. ’Tis believed that he would be a good match for you.”
Madelyne swallowed back the lurch of her heart into her throat. “Lord Reginald has said the same. I do not know what to think. He is kind and gentle. I don’t wish to wed, but if I must—which I know that I must—it would not alarm me were he chosen.”
“Has he kissed you yet, my lady?” asked Tricky mischievously.
“Kissed me? Of course not.”
“Oh.” Tricky sounded disappointed. “I was certain he had. Do you not wonder what it would be like to be kissed by a man? I wondered for so long, and now it has been by two men I have been kissed in this last fortnight.”
“I do not wonder what ’twould be like, as I have been kissed.” Madelyne stood to slip her sleeping gown on. Then, realizing what Tricky had said, she added in surprise. “Two men? Tricky, you have been kissed by two men?”
At the same moment, Tricky paused from tying the back of Madelyne’s gown to peer around into her face. “If Lord Reginald has not kissed you, then who has?”
Blood rushed to Madelyne’s face. “I should have said nothing,” she stammered. “’Twas foolish to speak of—it meant nothing. Who is it that you have kissed besides Jube?”
“That naysayer Clem,” Tricky said in disgust. “But that was long since passed, and he has been naught but rude and edgy since then.” She sighed, then giggled. “Poor man…he does not know that he is meant to wed with me, so he fights his desires. He believes ’tis Jube I love, and I have half a mind to let him think so betimes—the man is so thick-headed!” Even as she spoke, Madelyne saw her reach for the wormwood comb that Clem had bought her.
“You are going to wed with Clem?” Madelyne asked, glad to have deflected Tricky’s interest in her own kissing experience—and bewildered by her friend’s sudden change of heart. “Were you not complaining what a malcontent he is? Were you not grousing that you do not wish even to speak with him?”
“Oh, aye, but ’twas only because I was angry with him, you see…the man does not know yet that we will wed. He believes only that he is annoyed by me…little does he know that ’tis love he feels and does not know how to scratch that itch!”
With a little frown on her apple-cheeked face, Tricky resumed her duties and began to drag the comb through Madelyne’s long tresses. “’Tis glad I am that Jube kissed me too, else I would never have known that Clem—the oaf—is the man for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“’Tis in the kiss, Maddie. Do you remember what Peg said—’tis by the kiss that you will know. And he will know too—the kiss that makes your head spin. Jube’s kiss was nice and pleasant, but it stirred my insides little more than a wisp of a breeze…but Clem…ohh, Maddie, ’twas like I was caught in a storm on the ocean and could not find a secure holding for the life of me…and I became hot and fluttery… ” She yanked too hard with the comb, pulling a short yelp from her mistress. “I am sorry, my lady!” she apologized, and silence ensued as Tricky concentrated on combing her hair without balding her mistress as Madelyne mulled over her friend’s words.
Then, as Tricky replaced the comb on its table, she turned to look at Madelyne. “Who is it who has kissed you if it was not Lord Reginald?”
Again, heat swarmed Madelyne’s face. “Nay, Tricky, I do not wish to tell. It was nothing.”
“You must tell me Madelyne. I want to know!” Tricky planted her hands on her hips and stood in front of her, glowering. “If I am to be your maid, I must know all so that I can advise you and look out for your best interests.”
Madelyne, though not convinced by her maid’s argument, drew a deep breath. Part of her wished to tell…someone. “Lord Gavin. ’Twas Lord Gavin.”
Tricky squeaked in shock. “Lord Mal Verne kissed you?”
“Be still!” Madelyne snapped, looking toward the heavy door. Could Jube—or Rohan—hear what was being said?
“Lord Gavin kissed you?” Tricky had lowered her voice, but now stared at her assessingly. “I should never have guessed that, my lady. That puts quite a different light on things.”
“What?” Madelyne asked. “What do you mean?”
But Tricky did not reply; just looked at her shewdly, brows crinkling and lips settled firmly, nodding her head as though some great mystery had been revealed.
Nineteen
“I’ve seen nor heard nothing of de Belgrume,” Gavin told the king. It was evening, and he sat in a large cushioned chair in the king’s private bedchamber.
Henry paced, as always, hands clasped behind his back. “He has been too quiet and I fear that he plots something. I much prefer to know where he is and what it is he does.”
“I cannot disagree,” Gavin replied. “But he seems to have disappeared and is nowhere to be found here at Whitehall. Mayhap he has taken his twisted self back to Tricourten for a time…but I do not believe that is likely.”
“How come you on your task of finding a husband for that little nun?” Henry changed the subject.
Before Gavin could reply, a knock came at the chamber door and a squire entered. “Her majesty has arrived and awaits your pleasure,” said the young man with a short bow.
“Indeed, I have been awaiting her for the last hour. Bid her enter.” Henry waved his hand impatiently. “How can it take a woman so long to prepare for bed?” he grumbled.
“When one is preparing for bed with the king of the realm,” a husky voice said from the doorway, “one must do the preparations justice.”
Garbed in a fur-lined satin robe, Eleanor crossed the room. Giving a brief curtsey to her husband, she then raised a cheek to him. He kissed it and grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Madame, you are beautiful as always,” he told her. When she glanced curiously at Gavin, the king explained, “I shall be only another short while. Please, sit…and mayhap you will have an opinion on the matter at hand.”
He gestured to Gavin, who had risen upon Eleanor’s entrance. “Your majesty, may I pour you some wine?”
“Only if ’tis from Aquitaine,” she responded with a coy smile.
“Of course. The king has only the best of all vintages,” he said smoothly, nodding pointedly in her direction to include her in the compliment.
She was delighted. “Gavin Mal Verne, I did not expect such an agreeable response from you. The ladies speak of you with such apprehension…half of them would swoon if you so much as looked at them, they fear your black moods so much.” She laughed and took the goblet that he offered to her. “Now I know better and will not allow them to speak thus.”
Gavin wasn’t certain how to respond, so he merely nodded again and, after she sat, he, too, sank into a chair. Henry continued to pace, fussing with his tunic, a sheaf of parchments, his goblet of wine…whatever it was that caught his eye and allowed him to expend energy.