To have the sacred blood of the Magdalen polluted by that of his sworn enemy Mal Verne.
Never.
Fantin reached blindly for his goblet of wine—a watery, poor vintage, but he could not expect better at this hole where he lived in the town out side of Whitehall. At the least he wasn’t forced to drink ale or water. He choked down five huge swallows before replacing the cup and stared at his man.
“They wed on the morrow?” Fantin could barely force the words from his mouth, dry and raspy from the nasty wine and his own fury.
“Aye. The court is awash with joy over the celebration.”
An emptiness surged over Fantin and he sank onto his chair. There was no way he could halt the wedding…even he, in his pulsing, pounding need, knew this.
All could not be lost. There must be a way. There must be a reason for this. To have his get consummate a marriage with Gavin Mal Verne… ’Twas all he could do to keep from screaming.
If she was to help him, his daughter could not be sullied—dirtied—by the touch of a man, any man…but most particularly that of Mal Verne. As the product of the pristine relationship between himself and Anne, Madelyne was meant for more. She’d been resurrected from the dead, after a fashion, and destined for holiness.
Somehow, he must wrest her from Mal Verne—most especially before she was got with child. Madelyne was meant to play a role in his work, and Fantin would not allow himself to be stopped.
On the even of their wedding night, Gavin found his betrothed on the battlements atop the castle of Whitehall. He knew this because Rohan had sent the word to him, but then remained to watch over his lady.
She stood near the edge, looking out over the darkness that yawned before her. Her night-dark hair had come loose from its coils and fluttered like so many banners in the healthy breeze. She’d turned her face up to the slice of moon that hung among the dancing stars.
“Surely you do not find wedding with me such a challenge that you should jump, choosing death instead of me,” he said quietly, purposely echoing similar words he’d said to her on the battlements at Mal Verne. Tonight, he spoke only partially in jest.
Madelyne turned regally. “I knew that you would find me here.”
Her smile gleamed in the darkness, and he was overwhelmed with longing. When had she turned into such a siren?
“What do you here?” he asked, stepping toward her so he could be close enough to feel her warmth. It was amazing: the warmth that emanated from her was not just a physical one…’twas one that enveloped him and made him feel manly, strong, and protective.
Her shoulders moved gracefully. “I wished only to look upon the land from here…and to think. My life will change greatly on the morrow.” She turned to face him, the uneven stone wall at her back.
“Aye.” His word hung quietly between them.
“I’ve forgiven you for taking me from the abbey,” she offered, reaching to touch his face. It was the first time she’d felt the smoothness of his cheek, and she rested her hand there, allowing her fingers to soak up every sensation of warmth and the harsh, short hairs that had sprung up since that morning’s shave. “I look ahead to my life with you and at Mal Verne. I’ve come to believe God has directed me in such a way that I could not balk it.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, still conscious of the soreness in his shoulder, and pulled her hips to his. He cared not whether she would feel the throbbing arousal that lifted between them. “I did not ever believe I would wed again,” he told her, stroking his hand down the side of her cheek.
“Judith told me what happened with Nicola…and my father. I didn’t know. Gavin…I am sorry that he should have been the cause of so much grief in your life… And Judith told me also of Gregory. She has long forgiven you, Gavin…’tis time you forgave yourself.”
He sighed. “Ah, Judith. ’Tis ever she has the loose tongue!”
He pulled her again to him, again only to hold her head against his chest, to bury his face in her hair while the wind tossed around them, to allow himself the luxury of knowing only that moment…for that moment. Her breasts swelled against him and he enjoyed the knowledge that he would learn every part of those curves on the morrow.
“When we first met,” Madelyne said, her voice muffled against his chest, “I saw you as a cold and driven man, seeking only revenge, and caring little for the sanctity of life. You acted foolishly during the fire—with honor, but with little thought for your safety. ’Twas as if you disdained danger, and relished the opportunity for death.” She pulled back to look up at him, her delicate features shadowed by the mooncast. “I no longer see that same need within you, Gavin…and I hope that your need for danger and killing and war will ease with time.”
“I have more to live for now,” he told her, stroking her hair as it fluttered under his hand. “We will live together at Mal Verne with our children, and—” He stopped as she tensed within his arms, becoming completely still. “What is it, Madelyne? Verily you did not expect to be released from the obligation of bearing my heir?” Fear gripped him and harshness crept into his voice. Surely she did not expect that he would relieve her of the duty of filling his bed!
He held her away to look into her eyes and saw genuine fear shining in them, there under the moonlight. “You understand that I must have an heir, and that any man you would marry would require that of you!”
Madelyne nodded slowly, pulling from the grip he did not want to release. She stood with her arms crossed over her middle as though she felt pain there, and looked out into the darkness. “Aye, my lord, I know…and it was foolish of me to forget that. ’Tis only… Gavin, I have madness running in my blood! I am tainted…and will have tainted children!”
Relief, pure and bold, swept through him. “Madelyne…ah, Madelyne… ” He cupped her face with his hands. “Listen, and listen well… ” He delved into her eyes, searching them to make sure she saw his sincerity—and the truth therein. “Your father is mad, aye, but, Madelyne, there is nothing but sanity—beautiful, warm, sensitive, true serenity in you. I look into your eyes and I see naught of the madness that clouds Fantin’s eyes or his actions… Madelyne, ’tis I who should fear tainting your goodness with my blood should we have a child!”
She stared up at him for a moment, then began to blink rapidly as moisture glistened in her eyes. “Gavin…thank you. Such beautiful words…and I see the conviction in your eyes, and know that you believe them. I can only pray, then, that you are right and that the madness will not run in the veins of our children.”
Twenty-Four
“In the name of God, let all know that this man and this woman are joined forevermore. Let none pull them asunder, and let them be one until death parts them.”
Madelyne looked at Gavin, and he felt a surge of emotion as he grasped her hands tighter. He bent to press a chaste kiss to her pink lips, then another, and pulled away as the witnesses applauded in delight. Taking one of her hands, he slipped it into the crook of his arm and led his beautiful bride from the chapel and into the Great Hall.
They would feast and celebrate—the court had been waiting eagerly for this opportunity—and as soon as possible, Gavin would whisk Madelyne away to what was now the chamber they shared. He’d informed the king in no uncertain terms that there would be no bedding ceremony. “The sheets may be inspected in the morn, but I will not have Madelyne subjected to disrobing in the presence of anyone but myself or her maid.”
The king chortled at his man’s vehement comment, but acquiesced. “If I did not know better, Gavin, I should think you were well and truly smitten with the nun. Nevertheless, it will be as you say: no bedding ceremony…presuming you can abscond from the celebration in secret. I will not be responsible for the overzealous actions of your men and peers should they follow you!”