Madelyne stumbled after Judith, frozen, shocked, disbelieving. She tried to make sense of what her friend told her, but the only thing that resonated in her mind was that her husband had been accused of attempted murder—of the queen.
“’Tis a mistake. ’Tis absurd.” She muttered, at last standing alone and pulling from Judith. The king couldn’t believe that of Gavin. How could he? He knew her husband. She shook her head as if to dislodge the impossible, the absurd situation.
“And the king wishes to speak with you. There were needles hidden among the wires of the necklet, and poisoned.” Judith’s eyes were wide, with tears sparkling at the corners. “Gavin is to be imprisoned—and he will be executed if ’tis proven he is the murderer.”
Madelyne, followed by Clem, hurried after her friend. All the way, she tried to assimilate this news with her knowledge of the man she knew.
Nausea gathered in her middle. It was a mistake, she told herself. It was not true.
Gavin stood to the side in Henry’s private court room, his arms bound behind his back, and a man-at-arms standing at his side. Madelyne fought the urge to rush to his side. Instead, she focused on the grave face of the king as she positioned herself in front of him.
“Your majesty,” she curtseyed to him, glanced at her husband, then returned her attention to the man she’d believed was Gavin’s friend as well as his liege.
“Lady Mal Verne, do you understand what is happening here?” Henry asked. There was no sign of the light humor that had glinted in his blue eyes before, and no evidence that he had ever been anything but a harsh ruler. Indeed, his face bore a haggard but steely set.
“Aye, your majesty. My husband is suspected of attempting to harm the queen. Forgive me, your majesty, but you know that Gavin respects her majesty and yourself and is devoted to both of you!” Madelyne knew she spoke out of turn, but she could not stand to see the proud figure of her husband restrained thus. “He would have no reason to wish either of you harm!”
“Lady Mal Verne,” Henry’s voice boomed. “We are quite aware of the circumstances. We would ask that you refrain from offering your opinion until it has been asked. Now we ask you, did your husband prepare a gift to be given to the queen?”
Madelyne drew herself taller and steadfastly kept her eyes from Gavin. “Aye, he commissioned a special necklet to be made for her in thanks for our wedding. The box in which it was contained was also created especially for her majesty.”
“Aye. Created especially for her. With a poisoned pin-prick that would have sent her to her death if she had been the one to wear the necklet.” His eyes pierced blue-gray into her gaze.
“Nay, your majesty. ’Twas a gift of thanks…not of death. Why would my husband deliver himself to the queen such a thing? Would he not know that ’twould point to him immediately? He is not mad .”
But her father was.
A cold wave swept her.
Henry rose. He passed a glance over Madelyne, and she believed she detected regret in his expression. “Gavin, you must be imprisoned until this is resolved. I am sorry to do so, but the evidence against you is great and I cannot allow it to appear that I will not follow my own laws.”
“Your pardon, your majesty,” Madelyne spoke, stepping toward the king. “Please, your majesty, could it not be that someone who harbored ill against the queen—or my husband—prepared the poison?”
Henry swung toward her, a glower on his face that faded a bit as he recognized the concern in her eyes. “Of course that is possible. Did you think that possibility had not also occurred to me? Mal Verne…when did you receive the necklet, and was there a time where it may have been tampered with?”
Gavin glanced at Madelyne, then responded. “My lord…I cannot think of a moment when it could have happened, in truth. I should like to say otherwise, but I cannot. It was delivered from the town to my trusted man. And since that moment, ’twas safely hidden in my chamber until this morrow, when I took it to the queen.”
The king swiveled to look at Madelyne, who felt her heart swelling in her throat, her stomach pitching with nausea. “’Tis enough for me to hold him, Lady Mal Verne, at least at this time.” There was a trace of sympathy in his eyes before he returned to her husband. “Gavin, I do regret it, but you must be incarcerated until this is resolved.”
One of the guards came forward at the king’s gesture. Madelyne focused her attention on Gavin, though she stayed at the king’s side. “Gavin,” she said, her voice ringing clearly. “I will do whatever need be done to find out the truth.”
He paused, forcing the men-at-arms to wait as he spoke. “Madelyne, have a care for yourself. I trust this will be resolved soon.”
She watched after them, pushing back the despair that built within her. She turned to Henry and was surprised to see true regret in his eyes. “He is not a murderer,” she told him boldly.
“We know that,” was the king’s response. “And I well hope that you can prove it, my lady.”
Madelyne was given permission to visit with her husband while he was under house arrest. She reached through the iron bars to hold one of his hands.
“’Tis not so dirty as I’d feared,” she told him, looking behind him into the dark cell.
“No rats,” he replied, his eyes never leaving her face. “And a stool to sit upon…plus a small pallet on which to sleep. One cannot say that Henry is neglectful in his hospitality.”
Despite his light words, she saw the weariness and concern in his eyes. Shadows flickered about them, cast by a torch slung on the wall behind her. “Do they feed you well? I will send Tricky down with some food and an extra covering for your pallet.”
Gavin grimaced. “Madelyne, I have slept in much worse conditions. For now, I am most concerned about your safety. Please, remember to go nowhere alone. Not for one moment must you be unwatched. Keep Clem or Jube with you. I am sure this will be resolved quickly—Henry can’t believe I’ve done this—and then we will go to Mal Verne, away from this place.”
She touched his face, which was sticky with sweat and streaked with grime. “And a cloth and water I will send too, so that you can refresh yourself.” She dropped her hand to hold his again. “Gavin, someone must have taken the necklet—before the metalworker delivered it to you, or mayhap after ’twas brought to you.”
He pulled his hand away to grip the bars between them. “I removed the necklet from its box myself—if it had been tampered with before coming to me, I would have been pricked myself.”
“Then someone has been in our chamber and has taken it, and made you to look like a murderer.”
His head drooped. “Your head is much clearer than mine at this time—aye, Maddie. Have you talked to Jube or Rohan?”
She nodded. “Aye. They all have said that no one could have entered our chamber—as do all of your men: Clem, James, Antoine, and Peter. And they have seen no one about who should not have been there.” She took a deep breath. “Could my father have done this? He hates you so.”
He pressed his forehead against the bars, looking deep into her eyes. Her heart jolted out of rhythm at the soft, desperate expression there. “’Tis the most likely explanation. Your father is mad enough to do such a thing…all in the name of his work.”
“My father. They say he has long believed that God speaks to him, tells him what to do—orders him so that he can finish his work.” She lifted her eyes to stare into his, sorrow lining her insides. “Is it not a great irony that a man should use the love of our God, and his belief in Him, to justify evil? Whilst there are people—as Mother Bertilde, and others—who find only good in their love for God?”