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The King's Mistress
Terri Brisbin
Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesTHERE WERE WORSE THINGS …Than to be shackled in marriage to a handsome, powerful lord who desired her—but Marguerite of Alencon was bred to be consort to a king and could not abide her fate. She had great power as Henry Plantagenet's mistress, and to be set aside and promised as a bride to noble Orrick of Silloth was an insult she could not bear. . . !Orrick knew his reluctant bride was a creature of the court with many secrets. And yet, Marguerite of Alencon would make him a perfect partner—accomplished and gracious, a true Lady of the Keep—if only she could release her turbulent past and embrace a passionate future. . . in his arms!



“I wish to warn you of what is to come.”
He had seen the sensual, enticing, womanly Marguerite at first. This was the angry, controlling, warrior-like Marguerite.
Was there some other plotting going on? He took a breath and asked, “And what is to come?”
“My lord Henry is simply putting me in my place. He wishes me to know what he could do if he is displeased with me. I fear you have been caught up in a lovers’ quarrel.”
“Henry will call off the wedding today?” His instincts told him there was much more going on here.
“Of course he will! He loves me and will not give me away to some northern lord who never attends court.” She must have seen his look of disbelief, for she added, “I was raised as consort for a king, not some…some…”
“Barbarian of mixed blood, my lady?”

The King’s Mistress
Harlequin Historical #735

Praise for Terri Brisbin
“A lavish historical romance in the grand tradition from a wonderful talent.”
—New York Times bestselling author Bertrice Small on Once Forbidden
The Norman’s Bride
“A quick-paced story with engaging characters and a tender love story.”
—Romantic Times
The Dumont Bride
“Rich in its Medieval setting…Terri Brisbin has written an excellent tale that will keep you warm on a winter’s night.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Beautifully written and well researched, this book is a perfect ten in many ways.”
—Romance Reviews Today

Terri Brisbin
The King’s Mistress





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Available from Harlequin Historicals and TERRI BRISBIN
The Dumont Bride #634
The Norman’s Bride #696
The Countess Bride #707
The Christmas Visit #727
“Love at First Step”
The King’s Mistress #735
This book is for Gail Link, romance author and bookseller extraordinaire, who was one of the first authors I ever met and continues as a friend to this day! Thanks, Gail, for the hours of enjoyment you’ve given me with your books and for your ongoing support!

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue

Prologue
Anjou Province
November in the Year of Our Lord 1177
The slippery satin of her floor-length gown swished around her legs as she turned to face the king in anger. Unable to believe the pronouncement made by him, Marguerite of Alencon gasped.
“Sire! Surely you cannot mean to turn me away from your affections.”
“You will always bear my love, fair Marguerite, even as you bear my child. But you must be clear on this point—you will never take the queen’s place in name or in honor.”
“You have made her a prisoner, Your Grace. You have stripped her of her wealth and power. ’Twould serve you well to seek another as your queen and wife.”
Only after the words escaped did she realize the danger in teasing the Plantagenet temper to rouse. So caught up in her own plans and desires, she stepped too far in voicing these thoughts.
“’Twould serve many well to remember that I am the one who made her prisoner and that I am the one who controls her wealth and power. ’Twould serve many well not to meddle in the affairs of this kingdom.”
With his fists clenched in anger and his head thrown back as he spoke, his words echoed through the chamber and sent shivers through Marguerite as she reconsidered her approach.
“Sire, I beg your forgiveness for my brazen words. I wish only to love you and to give you pleasure and heirs as you desire. I carry one now within my womb and simply want to share my joy at the honor with you.”
Nothing inside her could make her take back the words. She wanted to be queen. She carried his son now. Her blood was noble enough to take her place next to him. Bastard or not, the blood coursing through her veins could be traced back to Charlemagne.
But she was a realist if nothing else, and so, gathering her pride in a bit, she lowered herself into a deep curtsy at his feet and tilted her head down until she was lower than his hand. After a minute in that humbling position, she raised her head and lifted his hand to her mouth. With a reverent kiss on it, she touched it to her forehead and whispered to him.
“I am yours, Henry. I live to love you and to serve you only.”
His manner calmed for his heavier, angrier breathing slowed and he did not pull away from her. Instead, he assisted her to her feet and he guided her to a chair. Once she’d taken her seat, he paced across the chamber without speaking. Marguerite had seen this behavior before in him. When first confronted with news that was neither pleasant nor wanted, he exploded, his temper getting the best of him. Then, when given time to acclimate himself to the news, he dealt with things in a fairer way.
Ridding himself of the disgraced Eleanor would take some maneuvering with both church and nobles and Henry was probably thinking of ways around the objections that may be made to it. In spite of their age difference and her perfidy to him in matters of family, he was most likely seeking a benevolent manner to remove Eleanor, yet one without losing the wealth and lands she brought into the marriage as her first husband had.
Marguerite reached over and, to soothe her parched throat, took a sip of the sweet wine still in her goblet. Watching the king pace back and forth, she knew he was beginning to agree with her assessment and ideas. She relaxed against the back of the high chair and waited. There was no sense in interrupting Henry now. Just as she began to get nervous over his silence, he stopped and turned to face her.
“Several years ago, I supported a monk from Sempringham in his battles against the revolt and the charges of his lay brothers,” the king said. She knew not where these words led, but waited for his explanation. “The order now thrives and is under my protection. One of their lay houses would be a good place for you to remain until you give birth.”
He was banishing her?
“My lord, do you mean to send me to a convent?” She could hardly draw a breath at the thought. “I only want to…”
“I understand, Marguerite,” he said, smiling that charismatic smile that had entranced her from their first meeting. “’Tis best to have the babe before any other plans are made between us.”
A small measure of fear crept up her spine at his words. Something within her knew that he was twisting her words and her desires for his own. But then, was that not what kings did when given the choice? She had not reached the level where she was now by avoiding the difficulties, and so she pressed her suit before he could leave and not give her some commitment to hold on to.
“And marriage, sire? Will there be marriage after the babe?”
Henry walked swiftly to her and pulled her to stand. The goblet dropped from her grasp as he wrapped his arms around her in possessive embrace and brought her mouth to his. His mouth took hers in a lustful, claiming kiss like the many they had shared for months and months between them. Over and over, he tasted her lips and his tongue played against hers as she felt her resistance to him and his ways diminished. When she was breathless, he drew back from her, tilted his head so that he met her gaze with those clear, Angevin eyes and he smiled at her.
“Oh, fair Marguerite, there will be marriage.”

Chapter One
Abbeytown
Silloth-on-Solway, England
July in the Year of Our Lord 1178
“My lord!”
Orrick turned at the brother’s call and stopped in his stride to his horse. Brother David, large and lumbering, approached him without calling out again. A message then?
“Good brother, what do you need of me?”
He knew most of the brothers by name because he had spent time since he was a babe here both with his father and alone on his own tasks. This one had been a member of the community for nigh onto ten-and-four years and in charge of the abbey’s vast assortment of clerks.
“The abbot requests another moment of your attention, my lord. In his office chamber.”
Orrick nodded to his men and, with his helmet still in his hand, followed Brother David to the abbot’s office. ’Twas something important or the abbot would not summon him back so soon. A few minutes brought him face-to-face with Abbot Godfrey.
“Come in for a moment, my lord. There is someone to see you and I thought you might want some measure of privacy.”
Orrick ducked lower to enter under the short doorway and straightened to his full height when inside. The royal envoy, wearing the insignia of the Plantagenet king, stood before the abbot’s table that was already strewn with papers and scrolls. The abbot left quietly without looking at either of them.
“My lord,” the man said, bowing before him. “Abbot Godfrey thought to save us both some travel. This is from the king.”
The sealed scroll lay in the air between them and something within Orrick made him hesitate to touch it. Not expecting word from the king who was in Anjou at the present, he could not imagine what tidings were carried within this roll of parchment. And part of him did not wish to know.
Pushing off his mail coif and tucking his helmet under his other arm, he reached out and accepted the messenger’s duty. The waxed seal cracked off the parchment in his hand and he stepped back away from the man to unroll the parchment until he could read the words. Then he stopped breathing as the words began to make sense to him.
Henry wanted to reward him for his father’s past and his current service to the Crown. A woman, nay, a wife, befitting his standing in the esteem and respect of the king. More gold for some service already performed. Another title.
Orrick swallowed as the words struck him. His father had been no fool and neither was he. He knew, plain and simple, that he was being bought. And the price being paid was high enough to make him worry. If Henry was stepping into the affairs of his nobles, Orrick knew he should be worried. Especially when it happened in the remote area of England where he lived and breathed. And when it brought him the likes of a bride named Marguerite of Alencon.
The messenger asked if he should wait for a reply and Orrick shook his head. “My answer will be my attendance on the king’s call, sir.”
“I shall convey your willingness to him, my lord.”
The man’s words were said almost as a question rather than a statement. His call to wed the king’s vassal was obviously not a secret at court for even the envoy knew the contents of the letter. And the words contained some doubt that he would agree. Not permitting any question to remain between them, Orrick replied to the envoy’s unspoken words.
“I am the king’s dutiful servant, sir. I live to serve as he needs me to.”
The messenger nodded and bowed before leaving the chamber. Orrick watched in silence as Abbot Godfrey walked slowly back in and waited for his reaction to the news he’d received. Godfrey kept his counsel in good times and bad and Orrick did not hesitate to tell him this life-changing pronouncement of the king’s.
“I am to marry at the king’s behest.”
“Marry, my lord? Did the king speak of whom you marry?”
Orrick knew that the marriage agreement was more important than the people involved, but he nodded to the abbot. “Lady Marguerite of Alencon.”
“Do you know the lady?” Godfrey asked, looking over Orrick’s shoulder at the king’s words. Free in his examination, the brother reached over and took the parchment from him, reading the words several times. ’Twas their practice since Godfrey knew Orrick would miss some of the important details and Orrick knew Godfrey would not. “Marguerite of Alencon…. The name seems somehow familiar to me. Mayhap your lady mother would know of this woman?”
“If she belongs to Henry’s court, my mother will know her name and her history, fear not.”
“’Tis true, my lord. Your lady mother has an inordinate amount of knowledge amassed about the king and his people. If she would turn her interests to other matters, her soul might gain some wisdom.”
Orrick knew Godfrey disapproved of his mother’s hunger for courtly gossip, but the years of being separated from her extended family and many friends in Normandy had not lessened the urge to follow the goings-on of those she’d left behind. In this instance, it might help him decide if he were being rewarded or punished with this marriage gift from the king.
“I will speak to her about her weakness, good abbot,” he said as he rolled the parchment up and slid it safely into the tunic he wore beneath his chain mail.
Godfrey cuffed him on his shoulder and laughed. “You will ask her what you need first and then reprimand her for her weakness, will you not, my lord?”
“You know me too well, Godfrey,” he said, acknowledging his plan. “Why waste valuable information without finding it first? This is my future I speak of. I should discover what I can before answering the king’s call and taking the wife he offers.”
Godfrey’s wizened face lost its joking expression. “Orrick, make no mistake in the flowery language of his message or in the beauty of the woman he names. You are ordered to take this wife. And to take her now.”
Orrick matched his seriousness. “I did not miss that part of the message, Godfrey. I understand the intent within this.”
“Then go with God, my lord. I will keep you and the lady Marguerite in my prayers until you return safely to our lands.”
He reached out and shook the abbot’s hand and then received a blessing from him. ’Twas the way of Godfrey. Without another word, he made his way to his men and mounted his horse. The journey would take nearly two days unless they pushed. Now with the need to return home and prepare for his travels to the king’s court and a wife, he did urge his men faster.
First though he must tell his mother and make arrangements for her comfort elsewhere within the keep. His wife would need to have a certain hold on the way things were done and he suspected that his mother, familiar with the keep and its people for over three decades, would not relinquish her power without challenges. There would be time for all of that, of course. First he needed to go bring home his bride.
The journey seemed to speed by as he thought about the woman who would be his wife and the mother to his children and heirs. He was not some green youth with no idea of what was to come. Marriage had been on his mind for some time, but always one matter or another came up and interfered with it. Now, the king had given him a way to do it simply and plainly.
So, it was with great anticipation that he and his men rode into the yard of Silloth Keep and approached the stairway to the great hall. He had taken no more than three or four steps when his mother’s voice rang out to him, squashing any belief that the king’s orders would work out for the best.
Lady Constance came tearing around a corner and faced him as her ladies and various other servants caught up with her. The redness in her face and her labored breaths spoke clearly of her agitation. But what was she upset about?
His stomach sank as she waved several parchments in his face. Without any attempt to lower her voice, she addressed her most pressing concern to him.
“Swear to me that you will not marry Marguerite of Alencon!”
How had she known? They had just arrived at the keep after a strenuous ride back from Abbeytown. The king’s messenger reported to him there without traveling here. How could she have known?
“Mother, the king has ordered our marriage. I go now to answer his summons and to bring her back here. How did you know her name?”
He watched as the confusion and anger and frustration filled her face. She turned to several of her ladies and none gave her the answer or reassurance she sought from them. Orrick was becoming convinced, as Godfrey was, that his mother spent entirely too much time fretting over gossip and other womanly worries such as those. Mayhap his new wife could help to distract her from such ways?
“You cannot marry her.”
This was getting out of hand. This was why he should not have delayed his marriage this long and why his mother needed to take her place within his wife’s household. But her sorrow over his father’s death had driven him to mercy and her excellent skills at chatelaine had won out. ’Twas time to change that and his wife would be just the person to do so, with his guidance and control.
“The king has gifted me with Marguerite of Alencon, as you apparently know. And the king is generous in doing so….” His words drifted off as even he experienced an uneasy feeling over the amount of gold being paid to take this woman as wife. Damn, but his mother knew what was at the heart of this matter and now he feared asking her. But he must know what he faced from the king. “Tell me now, for I would hear all of it.”
Steeling himself for what was to come, Orrick took a deep breath and faced his mother in the midst of all who looked on around them.
“The king is truly generous, Orrick, but not in this instance. He pays you gold for he seeks to give you his mistress as wife. Marguerite of Alencon is the king’s whore.”
The king’s whore?
Now that he’d heard his mother’s words, he turned and sought his chambers. Orrick needed to prepare for this summons and prepare himself to take the king’s refuse as his wife.
At least now he completely understood that he was being punished for some sin committed by either himself or his father. What other reason could there be for such an insult as this?

Chapter Two
“Henry will not do this to me. You are wrong,” Marguerite argued. “He loves me.”
But the words sounded hollow and unconvincing even to her ears. Marguerite turned away from her companion and looked at the elaborate dress spread on her bed. It could not be. It simply could not be true that Henry had given her in marriage to someone else.
“You know him better than anyone, Marguerite,” Johanna replied in a bland tone of voice. “If you say he will claim you before the marriage can happen, I believe you.”
Her temper flared and she flung the dress from the bed onto the floor. Grasping the edges of it, she tore it open and pearls and gems went flying all over the room. Before she could rip it into the pieces she wanted to, another voice called out to her from the doorway.
“Is this how you treat the gifts of the king?”
Marguerite turned as Lord Bardrick, Henry’s steward and henchman here at Woodstock, entered her chambers. Johanna made a quick curtsy and escaped, though Marguerite was not sure if her own temper or the steward’s lecherous gazes at the woman’s ample bosom made her run from the room. The door slammed and she was alone with one of very few men who had Henry’s confidence and knew the king’s secrets.
“My lord,” Marguerite said, dipping gracefully as she knew she could to the floor in a curtsy, one that shared a glimpse of her own now well-endowed bosom with him. “I fear I am overwrought with excitement over my impending marriage to Lord…Lord…” She pretended not to remember the name of her prospective husband for a moment until Bardrick said it.
“Lord Orrick of Silloth.”
“Just so. Lord Orrick of Silloth. I mean no disrespect to the king. Indeed I am always pleased by his attentions and his gifts.”
They both knew the gift most recently given to her by Henry. The babe had been a girl unfortunately, and of no use to Marguerite in her plans to make a claim for Henry’s further attentions and affections. At least a boy would have been accepted and graced with a title and a position of power and wealth as Henry’s other bastard son, Geoffrey, had been. Through a boy she could have some hold. But the girl born a few months ago was worthless to her and remained behind at the convent where she had given birth to her, a nameless noble, nay a royal bastard, to be raised by the nuns there. Her own sister stayed behind to oversee the baby and to answer her own call to a life of service to God.
Bardrick walked to the door of the room, opened it and spoke to one of the servants waiting outside. “Take this to one of the seamstresses and have her see to it. And quickly, girl,” he yelled, pushing the servant to move more rapidly. “The wedding is on the morrow and it must be ready.”
Marguerite watched with a sense of amusement as the girl gathered the pieces of the dress together and stumbled from the room. She had not moved from the spot in which she stood.
“The king plans on carrying out this farce then, Bardrick?” she asked.
“’Tis no farce, lady. You will marry Lord Orrick and Henry will brook no refusal on your part.”
“And if I do not?” Marguerite could not believe this was the end. Henry would reclaim her. He would object, mayhap even at the last moment, and save her from this unspeakable match.
“The last three people who refused the king’s generosity are not alive to tell you the stupidity of doing so. Think on that tonight as you prepare yourself for your marriage in the morn.”
A shiver shook her and, even though she tried to hide it from this weasel, his smarmy grin told her of her failure.
“Aye, lady. The prudent thing to do would be to acquiesce to Henry’s wishes. His loyal subjects who do usually live longer and better than those foolish enough to stand against him.”
Fight it though she did, she nodded slightly in his direction, never meeting his eyes since she knew the satisfaction she would see there at her surrender. Bardrick bowed to her and backed to the doorway, the way he did when she was the king’s favorite. The insult of it was clear—she was one of the many who had sought the king’s bed and now were to be used as rewards for services rendered to his faithful.
“Sleep well, Marguerite.”
The sound of his laughter and scorn as he made his way down the corridor away from her was the worst of it. It broke her resolve and she fell onto the now-empty bed and let the tears flow.
This could not happen to her. She had been groomed throughout her life to be the consort of a great man. Her blood was of royal stock and she deserved a husband of the same. She did not expect to be given instead to some barbarian of mixed blood in the north of England. This Lord Orrick lived as far from the court and the king as anyone could get. His lands were in some godforsaken place where there was never sunshine as in her own homeland. He was simply some minor lord over a few keeps and a mongrel group of villeins. She deserved more than this, more than him.
She deserved the king.
Marguerite waited for her grief to pass. There was still time. Henry could still, would still intervene before the words proclaiming her Orrick’s wife were pronounced. He could step in at anytime and call off this farce and gift this “lord of the north,” as he was called, with some mealy-mouthed chit more of his class. Someone content to suffer his touch and his life in the rough place he called his own.
She remained in her chambers for the rest of the evening, waving off her servants and her meal, preferring not to suffer the pitying looks of everyone around her over this match. As sleep was finally overtaking her, she prayed that Henry was simply making a point to her about overstepping her place and that he would keep her as his own.
Surely that was his plan?

“If you tug that once more, I will have your head!” Orrick said through clenched jaws. “I am not some maid who needs these kinds of clothes.”
“But, my lord, the king will be present at your wedding this morn, along with the most important of his court. You must look your best.”
Orrick began to mumble, but realized the futility of it. His own servants’ efforts were being complemented by some of the king’s men in order to make certain that every order and direction of the king was being followed to the smallest of detail. The king’s steward here at Woodstock had visited him several times over the past two days in order to convey Henry’s pleasure over his quick arrival and his agreement to the marriage.
The woman must have made herself into some kind of problem if Henry was this anxious to rid himself of her. And in but a few hours, she would be his—his wife and his problem to deal with.
“Finish it, Gerard. Finish it now,” he growled under his breath.
His man must have recognized the end of his limits of putting up with so much frivolity for he urged the others to complete their assigned tasks and leave the room. Gerard gave him one more look before also leaving.
Orrick shook his head and found himself alone.
He looked down at the elaborate tunic and the thick chains of gold that lay on his chest, and worried. He hated this much attention. He hated being at court. He hated all of this. But as a loyal subject of the king, he had no choice but to persevere until he could return to his own lands and sink back into the anonymity that the distant, wild north of England offered him.
And take his wife with him.
They would meet for the first time in less than an hour—a courtesy granted by the king at the request of the lady. She knew nothing of him; most at court could probably not describe him or even know they spoke to him as they did. But no one here hesitated from speaking of her. He had listened to the tales since his arrival; indeed he could hear the accolades in his mind even now.
She was beautiful. Her long, rich golden-brown hair reached nigh to the floor and flowed in generous curls over her lushly endowed body. Poems had been written about her gloriously blue eyes and sculpted red lips.
She was well educated—her family had provided the most learned tutors of the day—and she could speak most of the languages of the continent and could read and write in at least five, including Latin and Greek.
She was well pedigreed—in spite of her illegitimacy, her bloodlines reached back to Charlemagne and the great Frankish kings. She had connections to most of the royal families in the Christian world on the continent of Europe.
And she was the king’s whore.
Orrick sought out the window in his chamber. Pushing it open he observed the activity beneath him in the yard. Enjoying the familiar frenzy, he breathed in deeply and tried to allow the coolness of the breezes to soothe his concern. He wished he could talk this over with someone, but there was no one he could trust with his doubts over this marriage. There was so much more to this than a simple agreement and an order of the king. Was he being humiliated for being only an English nobleman and not one of the king’s favorites? Had his father or mother sinned against the Plantagenets and he would bear the cost of it now?
He planned to do nothing here in the severe scrutiny of the court other than accept Marguerite as his wife and take her back to his lands. Any problems between them would be worked out there, where no one questioned his authority or power. No one except the woman who pushed her way into his chambers now.
“Have you met her yet? Has she been presented to you?” His mother had followed him to Woodstock as he had expected but her presence here was not helping him. Instead her questions and veiled comments caused him more concern.
“I meet her in less than an hour, Mother,” he said as he turned away from the window to face her. And to clear up any doubts, he continued. “Alone.”
Orrick watched as his mother did momentary battle with the words she wished to say. Her face, not bothered yet by the wrinkles of life, tightened in worry. When had her pale blond hair begun to change to gray? She still had the full, robust figure he’d always known, but she was beginning to favor her mother in appearance. Now that he looked closer, Orrick could see the softening of her green eyes.
“Alone? But your family and hers should be present at such an important meeting. I must—”
“You must do nothing, Mother. I will meet Marguerite alone first and then you may attend the ceremony with the others.” His words sounded harsh, but he must speak sternly to her or she ignored him and went on her own merry way.
She looked as though she would argue for a moment and then a different expression filled her eyes. He saw the tears gathering and, for once, he knew these were not just a ploy to gain his sympathy or support. Her words confirmed it.
“I only wish your father could be here to see this. He had hoped you would consider marriage years ago, but…” Her words drifted off.
Orrick regretted his tone. “I delayed and now he will not see it. I am sorry for that, as well.” He left the window and walked closer to her.
“Things will be different,” she whispered.
He heard the fear in her voice. She would lose her standing with the arrival of his wife. Instead of being lady of the keep, vital to its efficiency and safety, she would now be an interested onlooker with no power or control that he or his wife did not grant her. Did she realize that she had given him the opportunity he had searched for to speak on this issue before his marriage?
“Mother,” he began, unsure of his words. “After the marriage…”
“If you would arrange an escort, I will move to my dower property near Ravenglass. It may be easier if I go directly there and you can have my belongings delivered to me when you arrive in Silloth.”
Although she said the words calmly, Orrick could almost feel the rapid beating of her heart. He could hear how she held her breath waiting for his words that would determine her fate. He knew his mother and she wanted nothing less than to be resettled in her dower keep since it was even more removed from life than his corner of England was. There must be a way to soothe her fears and not set up too awkward a situation in his own home.
“Your keep in Ravenglass needs some work and is not suitable for you to live there at this time. While repairs are done, I think you should remain at Silloth and give guidance to my new wife. Things will be strange to her and you might help her become accustomed to our ways and our people.”
After an uncomfortable moment of silence that seemed to stretch on for days, his mother’s exhaled breath and relaxed shoulders told him that he had said the right thing.
“I will only stay as long as the new countess needs my assistance, Orrick. I will not remain where I am not wanted.”
Orrick strode to her and gathered her in his arms. “I know you will not interfere, Mother. I know you mean well.”
Both of their words sounded hollow even to his ears. His mother, the Lady Constance, was a meddler and manipulator. She poked and peeked into every aspect of life at Silloth and at his other properties. She lived to meddle. But today, on his wedding day, he would accept her words as truth and hope for the best when they found themselves back at Silloth.
He stepped back from her, holding her shoulders as he moved away. “Now, I must finish my preparations and meet my bride face-to-face.”
She looked as though she would say something else, but a frown settled on her brow and her lips tightened as she held the words within her. Since he would rather hear any more disparaging remarks here in the privacy of his chambers, he waited. When she spoke no more, he leaned closer and kissed her forehead.
“All will be well, Mother. Truly.”
His mother offered him a bow of her head but no other words as she turned and left his chambers. He let out the breath he had not realized he held and felt some of the tension within him ease. The first of many strained meetings that faced him at Woodstock, and the one that in some ways he thought the worst, was done and now he could move on to meeting his bride and facing the king as he married the woman who was the king’s mistress.
Lady Marguerite requested that they meet at terce and, as that hour approached, Orrick left his chamber and proceeded down the corridor to a smaller room designated for their encounter. The bells calling the religious to prayers began to echo from somewhere close by as he entered the chamber. Knowing the practice of women to be late, Orrick did not dream that she would be waiting for him.
As he closed the door behind him, he realized that the gossip about her beauty and gracefulness had not been an exaggeration at all. As she lowered herself to a deep curtsy before him with her head bowed demurely and even more womanly curves and contours revealed to him, the baser part of him responded, as well. This could work after all. She would not be so difficult to bear as a wife.

Chapter Three
“My lady,” he said as he acknowledged her obeisance and held out his hand. “Please rise now.”
The softness of her fingers against his work-roughened hand sent fire through him. And when she finally raised her gaze to his, he knew he was lost.
Her hair did indeed reach nigh to the floor in spite of some decorations and jewels that were woven into the curls surrounding her face. His hands itched to touch it, feel it, even bring it to his face and inhale the fragrance of her that was carried by it. When she moved her head, her hair cascaded in flowing waves over her shoulders and arms and down her back. In an instant, his mind pictured her how she would be later in the night—in his bed, naked, with only her hair to shield her.
Shocked by his carnal reaction to simply meeting her, Orrick knew he must tame this beast within him or appear the barbarian she surely thought him to be. Stepping back and motioning to a bench, he allowed her to sit. A few steps across the chamber and he felt a bit more in control. Until she spoke.
“My lord Orrick, I am pleased to have this chance to meet you privately. My thanks for granting what must seem a strange request by a bride on her wedding day.”
Soft and incredibly feminine, her voice carried within a hint of huskiness and once more his body betrayed him. That underlying tone would be evident as she cried out her pleasure in his bed. He saw her naked and writhing against him as he filled her with his seed and as their satisfaction poured forth from both of them in loud cries. He closed his eyes for a moment and then realized her power.
Orrick had come to this day aware of the gossip and the tales told about her ongoing liaisons with the king. He had armed himself with a healthy measure of suspicion so that he did not become anyone’s fool in this. Believing that he did not make decisions with his cock, he had felt completely at ease with his ability to assess the lady and the situation and handle all of it.
Fool!
In but a few moments, her beauty, her blatant sexuality and her silent promises about what would be his ensorcelled him. With a curtsy and a nod, with a shake of her hair and an enticing scent and with simple words she had ensnared him in her trap. Now he stood before her, hard as stone and wanting her more than he had ever wanted a woman. The urge, the need, to touch and taste and hold and have and fill and claim and mark her as his own grew until he feared it might overwhelm him. Looking around the chamber, he spied a small table with a jug and some goblets. He used it to break her spell.
“Wine, my lady?” He poured some for himself, managing not to spill it in spite of the way his hand shook. Without waiting for her reply, he filled a goblet for her and brought it to her.
“My thanks, Lord Orrick,” she whispered as she lifted the wine to her mouth.
He watched as she finished her sip and as a drop of the sweet dark liquid began to trickle down from the corner of her lips. Even as his body moved forward to her, Marguerite used the tip of her tongue to catch it. He could not allow this to continue. Pulling his control around him, Orrick stepped back.
“And the reason for this meeting?”
“Why, to meet you, my lord! I know ’tis not so unusual for those of our status to marry without ever setting eyes on each other.” She paused and let her gaze move over him in a provocative way. Just as he could almost feel her touch, she continued. “But His Grace, the king, allowed this breach of etiquette because we have long been friends.”
“So I have heard, my lady.”
There! He needed to let her know that he was no man’s fool, not even the king’s. He might be forced to take Henry’s cast-off lover as wife, but Orrick would not pretend he did not know the real relationship between Henry and Marguerite. Not even to her, not even to assuage his own pride.
Her reaction surprised him. She stood and handed him the cup. Walking to the door, she faced him. The soft expression on her face changed to a much harder one, one that sapped most of the beauty from her features. She stood taller and stared at him with a look that sent icy chills down his spine.
He had seen the sensual, enticing, womanly Marguerite at first.
This was the angry, controlling, warriorlike Marguerite.
“Although I owe you nothing, Orrick of Silloth, I know that you are forced to this marriage as I am and want you to know the truth.”
He lifted the cup to his mouth and swallowed the wine in one mouthful. “And which truth would that be, my lady?” Did she plan to admit that she had shared the king’s bed and mayhap even had his love?
“This marriage will not happen. I am somewhat sorry that you have been drawn into this misunderstanding between the king and me, so I wish to warn you of what is to come.”
Was there some other plotting going on? Did the king have some punishment in mind for some imagined wrongdoing on his or his father’s part? Why this sham of marriage if Henry planned to arrest him on some charge? His gut tightened and he worried about what would happen to his people if he were imprisoned or hanged. Finally, he took a breath and asked.
“And what is to come?”
“My lord Henry is simply using this charade to put me in my place. I overstepped myself and he wishes me to know what he could do if he is displeased with me. I fear you have been caught up in a lovers’ quarrel.”
The roiling in his stomach lessened a bit as his own suspicions grew. Would Henry go through all of this very public display of giving her in marriage and then default at the last moment? Orrick had signed most of the papers involving the transfer of property and titles and, indeed, had received a portion of the gold promised already. Aye, a king could undo all of that with a word, but would he?
“Henry will call off the wedding today?” he asked, searching for something more. His instincts told him there was much more going on here.
“Of course he will! He loves me and will not give me away to some northern lord who never attends court.” She must have seen his look of disbelief for she added, “I was raised as consort for a king, not some…some…”
“Barbarian of mixed blood, my lady?”
Oh, her words had been duly reported to him just after she’d uttered them. He had chosen to ignore them for in the strange situation it was sometimes difficult to discern who said what to whom about whom. The challenge had been offered and accepted—there would be no more of the courtly niceties between them in this conversation. She did not soften her stance at all; indeed she seemed to be strengthened by the fact that he knew how she felt about him.
“Just so, my lord. Surely the king will find a more suitable match for you from among his English nobles. I fear I am far too accustomed to living at court and in my own country that it would make me too sad to move so far from it.”
And too far from Henry. Those words remained unspoken, but they echoed in his head as though she had shouted them.
“Is your purpose in telling me this to force me to Henry with a request to call off this arrangement? Is that what you hope for?”
She looked away as though she was not going to answer and then turned back and met his stare. “I was simply trying to save you the humiliation of facing the court at a wedding without a bride at your side. I thought you should know that Henry will claim me and not allow you to marry me as you’ve been asked to do.”
Her voice was soft and he could almost believe that she was sincere. For a brief moment he did believe her, and then a stab of pity tore at his heart as he realized the truth of the matter.
She believed it.
Marguerite believed that Henry would step in and stop the wedding. She was either ignorant of the arrangements already in place, or she was simply denying it to herself. He guessed that, after years of being the king’s favorite, ’twas too difficult to admit that she no longer held his affections or that unofficial place of honor within the court. The gossips had not named a new paramour to the king, but it would simply be a matter of time before one was identified and took her place.
How could it feel to have lived less than a score of years and already be considered a castoff? Loved, abandoned and now given away to a stranger. From the look in her eyes and the tilt of her chin, she did not want pity from him or anyone else. So, he would give her none. But as she had warned him, he would offer one of his own.
“I, too, believe that humiliation will be the order of the day, Marguerite, but fear you will feel its bite and not I. I suggest you prepare yourself and protect your heart if you wish to survive it.”
She blinked rapidly as though trying to understand, and he knew it was time to leave. He put his hand to the knob of the door and she stepped aside, allowing him to pass without comment.
There was nothing else to say to her. They were both pawns, playing out the moves of the game in front of the Plantagenet court and before the game master himself.
God help them all.

Marguerite smoothed the elaborate gown over her legs and stood motionless as the women crowded around making adjustments to her hair and dress. It did not bother her for she had been raised this way—servants carried out their tasks and nobles took no notice. Apparently they reached that point when they were either satisfied or ran out of time, for a long polished looking glass was positioned before her and she had her first look at the fruits of their labors.
If her eyes seemed a bit too bright or her skin a bit too pale, no one noticed but her. The pale blue satin-and-silk gown and undertunic brought out the creaminess in her skin and the iciness of her eyes. The double-thick length of gold chain that surrounded her waist twice and then rested on her hips reflected the brightness of the many candles in the room. Matching gems and ribbons had been threaded through her hair, which now fell almost past her ankles as she moved.
’Twas appropriate as an unmarried woman to show her hair thus, in all its glory and richness. If the marriage truly happened, ’twould be the last time it would be displayed openly to be seen by one and all. After seeing Henry’s reaction to it unbound, and now Orrick’s, she began to understand the power of such a feature. She nodded at the servants holding the heavy glass and they took it away.
Her visit with Orrick had been startling in its results. He was not as barbaric as she thought he would be. Tall and muscular, he looked fairly attractive in his court garments. His pale brown hair fell to his shoulders and he wore neither beard nor mustache as many men at court did, and it left the masculine angles of his face exposed. His cool green eyes showed intelligence when they gazed at her, and his voice was deep and rich. In many ways his appearance pleased her. But it mattered naught for she was not for him.
She gave away no sign of her anticipation of Henry’s arrival, but she knew he would see her before the planned ceremony. He would explain his arrangements to keep her at his side and everything would make sense to her. She had paid a price for her presumptuous behavior, and now duly chastened, she would return to court as Henry’s favorite. The knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Before she could say otherwise, a serving woman pulled the door open. Her uncle entered, alone, and bowed to her.
Ah. Marguerite understood that her uncle would take her to Henry before the ceremony and put an end to this. Without a word, her mother’s brother offered her his arm and they walked through the corridors of one of Henry’s favorite palaces. Servants, guests and enemies lined the great hall to witness her fall from grace. Acknowledging no one, Marguerite focused her gaze on a place ahead and walked steadily alongside her only male relative in England.
Sooner than she would have thought possible, they reached the front and climbed to the raised dais. The maid assigned to her on her arrival at Woodstock stood off to her side to assist her as needed. Other than those two people, she was alone.
Uncertain if she should look for Henry, Marguerite gathered her nerve and looked from one side of the dais to the other. Lord Orrick stood with several of his retainers and an older woman who must be his mother. Roger, the bishop of Dorchester, who would perform the ceremony, sat in one of the two chairs placed in the center. She looked to the larger, more ornate chair and finally saw the king for the first time in several months.
He exuded a force of life unlike anyone else she had ever met. In spite of the personal battles he fought within his family and those he waged on behalf of his kingdom, he appeared invincible to her. If his hair was a bit grayer or if his waist had gained a few inches, it did not detract from his appeal.
His piercing gaze captured hers and for a moment she lost her breath. Marguerite knew that nothing had lessened his desire for her…not the time that had passed, not the babe she bore him and not this farce of an arranged marriage. A smile tugged at the corners of the lips she knew so well and she answered it with one of her own.
She had been a fool to think he would not intervene. Lord Orrick’s words earlier had caused her to doubt the man she knew. But now, as she could read in his expression, she still had his love and his passion. He would never give her away.
Content now with how this would end, she let out a breath and relaxed. Of course, when he made his announcement of an alternate arrangement for Lord Orrick, she could not allow the victorious feelings within her to show. While in public, she must behave as a chastened woman so that Henry’s pride was satisfied and so that he knew she had learned the lesson he taught.
Lord Orrick now walked to her side. The bishop’s clerk began to read out the betrothal agreement to those assembled. His booming voice echoed to all in the great hall and went on for several minutes as their properties and titles were announced. Henry had been generous to both of them or should she say would have been generous if the marriage was in truth. This “lord of the north” was to gain much by agreeing to marry her.
A pang of hurt pierced her as she realized two things: that she was nothing to this man Orrick except the gold and titles she brought him, and that Henry had made this bargain overly attractive so Orrick could not refuse it. No nobleman in search of power and wealth could.
Taking a deep breath in and letting it out, she purposely chose another explanation of this agreement, one that made more sense to her mind and her heart—Henry was demonstrating her worth and value to him by the amount he was offering Orrick. Henry would stand and put an end to this soon, but so long as the agreement stood, it was a significant sign of his affection for her.
The sudden silence startled her from the thoughts meandering through her mind and brought her back to the ceremony before her. Marguerite looked up and noticed Orrick approaching her side. Holding out his hand to her, he waited for her to place her hand in his grasp.
She looked to Henry for now was the time for him to speak. He nodded at her, looked only at her, as he did so. She fought the victorious smile that threatened to break out as she nodded back.
“My Lord Bishop,” he said, standing now as he spoke, “let the exchange of vows begin now.”

Chapter Four
’Twas luck alone that his hand was already offered to her, for Orrick knew that she would have stumbled or, even worse, fallen at the king’s words. Everyone on the dais could see the blood draining from her face at his order to begin. For a moment, he even thought she would faint. Now he prayed that her shocked condition would continue through the ceremony, for her legendary biting tongue and fierce temper would not help matters.
Confusion and disbelief filled her blue eyes as he guided her forward. He repeated the bishop’s words sealing their marriage and squeezed her hand when her words were needed. Like a trained animal, she stuttered out the vows required. She trembled beneath his hand and he slid his arm around her waist to keep her standing.
Part of him wanted to chastise her for not heeding his words of warning. Part of him wanted to turn and walk away from this devil’s bargain. But the duty-bound part within him kept him at her side and even helped her to kneel to receive the bishop’s blessing as they were pronounced husband and wife to Henry’s court.
Whispers tittered behind them as the crowd knew not how to respond. Orrick stood and drew Marguerite up as the king also now stood once more. Henry clapped loudly and called out to his courtiers.
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” Henry shouted.
The cheering and clapping increased now and was loud enough to gain Marguerite’s attention. Orrick knew he would have to get her away from the king and this crowd quickly to preserve any remaining dignity for himself or her. Motioning to his mother, he introduced Marguerite formally and then asked his mother to stay with his new wife. He must speak to the king and gain permission to leave. Orrick had no desire to stay and subject his family to the farce of a bedding or the morning-after fiasco.
He approached the king and asked for a moment in private and then followed Henry to an alcove in the corridor outside the hall. This would be a tricky conversation between king and vassal, between the lover and the husband of the same woman.
“Sire,” he said, bowing his head to Henry, “my thanks for your attention to this matter.” Henry surprised him by laughing out loud at his words.
“You may not be grateful once the lady regains her ability to speak.”
Orrick held his own tongue rather than express his thoughts. His only intention was to save his family and his wife from the open ridicule that would occur if either of them lost control in front of the court.
“I do wish to ask your permission to leave Woodstock now.”
“Now, Orrick? And not stay for the feast I ordered to mark the occasion?”
He hesitated, not certain of how to answer, but then he decided that the direct method was the correct way to approach this personal matter. He dragged his hand through his hair and let out his breath. The only way was man to man.
“Your Grace, we both know the truth of this situation. We both know of your relationship with Marguerite. We both know why you arranged this marriage between the lady and me. There is no need to drag out the public display any longer. All who witnessed the ceremony know and understand the message you gave.”
Henry’s face turned red and Orrick feared he had spoken too bluntly. “Think you so?” Orrick nodded. “And what, pray thee, was my message?”
“That you are king and your will shall be done.”
His diplomatic way of saying that the king would punish any who overstepped their place in his world must have worked, for Henry’s eyes lost their angry glare.
“Your party may leave at will, Orrick,” the king said as he turned to walk away. “One day you may thank me for the gift I give you now.”
Thinking the king referred to his granting permission for them to leave and not face the continued embarrassment of a wedding feast and bedding, Orrick bowed to Henry and followed back into the hall. Approaching his retainers, he gave orders for their departure as soon as arrangements could be completed. Then he faced his bigger challenge. Marguerite.
She stood nigh to completely still, except he noticed that her hands shook in spite of the way she clasped them in front of her. The pale shade of her complexion was unusually gray and the blankness in her gaze told him all he needed to know. Nodding to his mother, who thankfully did his bidding without question, he escorted his new wife from the hall and back to her chambers.
Marguerite did not move from the place where he stopped and neither did she look at him as he called out orders to the servants there. If she knew what was going on around her, she gave no indication. In a way, he was grateful for this shock that enclosed her in its grasp. He had much to accomplish before they could leave Woodstock and the prying eyes of the court and king. Orrick wanted to put as much distance and time between them before resting his head for sleep.
“Mother,” he called out, “would you see that Lady Marguerite’s belongings are moved to our wagons? She should be packed for the most part already.”
His mother moved into the room and began to organize the servants’ activities. And still Marguerite stood in the middle of it, looking neither left nor right. Pity for her filled his soul. He could only imagine what it felt like to be so wrong about someone and to discover that truth in front of so many others who awaited your betrayal and downfall.
“Marguerite,” he said in a low voice to her. “Marguerite, do you have a maid who will travel with you to Silloth?”
She said nothing and he was about to shake her to gain her attention when a young woman came to his side and curtsied.
“My lord, I am Edmee, the lady’s maid. I will travel with her.”
“Help your lady change into something that can withstand traveling and be ready in half an hour.”
“Yes, my lord,” Edmee answered. Before she could step away, Orrick reached out and stopped her.
“Do you speak English?”
“Nay, my lord. Only Norman and French, my lord.”
“Prepare your lady now.”
Orrick shook his head—another problem. His people, other than his mother and her few ladies, spoke English and a smattering of other local tongues like Gaelic. Was English one of the languages Marguerite spoke? Surely it was.
There was no time to spend fretting over these minor details and so, confident that his orders were being followed here among the women, he returned to his own chambers and found his men efficiently preparing for their trip. Within an hour, his group was on its way out of Woodstock and toward northern England and his home.

If Orrick had known the problems he would face on the road, he might have delayed leaving after all. The weather conspired against them, slowing their progress with days on end of rain and wind. Although the hospitality of local lords was extended to them, his party was unable to travel quickly due to his wife’s condition. His wife.
Marguerite had not stirred from her befuddled state since their departure from Woodstock. His mother reported that she barely ate or drank at all, and spoke not a word to anyone, including the young maid Edmee. The lady cooperated and followed instructions, but did not do anything more than was asked of her.
Orrick stood from where he’d broken his fast and considered what could be done for the severe melancholia that had beset Marguerite. Although certain that the surprise of the wedding being accomplished and the realization of her situation caused it, he was also sure that the rigors of the road were worsening it. Now, with less than a day’s travel left, he felt a small measure of relief and hopefulness that once they arrived in Silloth and once the lady had a chance to accustom herself to her new life, it would all work out. Orrick also knew that, if needed, the village healer was accomplished in her skills.
At his orders, the lady was escorted to him and he helped her mount. His hands slid along from her waist to her ribs and he noticed the change in her form. Taking his place on his horse next to her, he guided hers as they made their way on the road west.
He called on his long-unused skills at diplomacy and court behavior and tried to engage her in conversation. His attempts were unsuccessful. He asked her questions about her family and tried to elicit some information from her about her life in Normandy. He failed. Even his efforts to describe Silloth and his lands and people met with no change in her empty expression.
Still, Orrick talked about what she would see, those she would meet and what was expected of her as lady of Silloth. He hoped some of it would seep through and she would gain some information from it that she could use on her arrival.
Passing by Abbeytown, Orrick rode straight for home. It was just before sunset that their group reached the village outside the keep. The enthusiastic greetings of his people made him smile. He had not realized how uncomfortable he’d been in Henry’s court until he caught sight of the open gates of his home. He urged his mount faster and soon they were before the steps into the keep. A glance at Marguerite revealed a gaze that was no longer empty. Now it was filled with horror and she looked around her and back at him.
Before he could dismount to help her, someone pushed through the gathering crowd and reached her first. Orrick did not react fast enough to reach her first. The tall, Scottish warrior lifted Marguerite from the back of her horse as though she were a child and held her out in front of him as he examined her from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet.
Orrick leaped from his horse and stepped over to his friend’s side. “Gavin, put her down.”
“She doesna look very sturdy, Orrick. Are you sure she’s the right one?” His pain-in-the-arse foster brother’s evil grin told him that Gavin was enjoying the mischief he was causing. But the expression on Marguerite’s face, now gray with fear, concerned him more.
“Lady Marguerite has had a difficult journey, as have we all. Put her down so that I might escort her to the chambers.”
Gavin did lower her to her feet, but her legs gave out as she tried to stand. Instead of giving way to him, Gavin scooped her up in his arms and turned to Orrick. Marguerite pushed herself as far from her rescuer as she could manage and then did the most unexpected thing.
With a strength that belied her frail condition and petite size, his wife let out a scream that had most of those witnessing the scene grimacing in pain from its loudness and shrillness. Gavin, the instigator of this mess, did not shrink back from it at all. Indeed, he laughed out loud, nearly losing his hold on Marguerite as his body shook with the force of it.
Orrick stepped closer to try to soothe her, but her screams ended on a strangled cry and, as he watched, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head as she fainted.
“Mayhap she has a bit of pluck after all, Orrick,” Gavin said as he handed the lady over to him. “She’ll do.”
“You misbegotten cur of a—” Orrick began in a furious whisper.
“Hold your tongue, friend. I wanted only to welcome your wife to your home.”
“Damn you, Gavin. If that had been your intent, you would not have caused this fiasco in front of the entire village.”
Wasting no more time berating his friend, Orrick climbed the steps into the keep, calling out for his wife’s maid to follow and giving his own instructions as he went. By the time he’d reached the room adjoining his own, servants followed, bringing hot water, the lady’s trunks and food and drink. Orrick laid her on the bed and stepped back so that her maid could attend her.
Exhaustion of body, mind and spirit was overtaking him, as well. Now that they were home, this could all be sorted out. Obstacles that seemed so large on the road would be conquerable now. Orrick turned, deciding that everyone needed some time to rest and refresh themselves.
His steward and his mother waited in the corridor outside the chamber and neither looked pleased. He would hear his mother’s concern first then deal with his steward.
Leaning toward her, he asked her quietly, “What is it, Mother?”
Her answer, in a like tone, could have been shouted at him for the force it carried. “Is she carrying the king’s bastard?”
Orrick reeled back as though struck and he turned back to see Marguerite still prostrate and unmoving on the bed. ’Twas one scenario he had not thought of. Leave it to his mother to come up with it. Well, the truth of her condition would be known with her first menses or with its absence, so he may as well ask his mother now.
“Did she bleed on the trip here?” Orrick rubbed his forehead against the growing pain there. His mother’s tight-lipped grimace gave her answer. “I suppose that we must wait to discover that, then.”
His mother began to turn away, but with a hand on her arm, Orrick stopped her. Looking at one then the other, he commanded, “Say nothing of that suspicion to anyone here. If word gets out that she is breeding, I will know from whence it came.”
He released Lady Constance’s hand and held her gaze, waiting for her acceptance of his order. When she nodded, he added, “I suspect that the long journey has simply exhausted all of us and, with some good food and rest, we will all regain our senses.”
Both his mother and Norwyn, his steward, nodded again and began to leave, but there was one more thing he needed first.
“Lady Marguerite’s maid speaks no English. Can you find someone to help her? Her name is Edmee.”
“Doesn’t Marguerite speak it?” his mother asked.
“I fear I did not ask her that question when last we spoke. ’Twas not a concern of mine then. Now I suspect that it is not in Marguerite’s temperament to teach her servant even if she knows the language.”
“None of my ladies will play servant to a servant, Orrick. You must know that.”
The pounding between his ears increased and he was certain that his jaw would lock in the clenched position in which he held it for so long. His control was at an end, and just as he took a breath and prepared to let his displeasure show, Gerard spoke from the shadows.
“My lord, I could teach the maid.”
Orrick thought on this offer and realized that it was the only way, at least for now. “Fine, Gerard. Show her what she needs to know about the keep and teach her some of our words. Norwyn, she will need additional help, as well. Assign—”
Norwyn waved his hand at Orrick. “Already done, my lord. The chambers were made ready and servants were assigned to see to the rooms and to the lady.”
“Fine, then. I need—”
“In your chambers, my lord. Wine and food for you,” Norwyn answered. “Hot water for a bath is on the boil and will be ready shortly. And when you are ready, we can review my notes and your orders about the estate.”
He could not fault Norwyn for his thoroughness. The man had learned at his father’s knee about the duties of being steward and, although still new to the position here, Orrick had found him to be more than competent and resourceful in managing the keep, village and lands of Silloth. Surely the man could hold things together for a short while longer while Orrick bathed and ate.
Back in his chambers, after removing his mail, peeling the sweaty tunic and stockings from his body and sinking into the steaming bath that awaited him, Orrick waved away his servants. As he slid into the soothing heat, he wondered if anything about this marriage would ever work.

Chapter Five
Her eyes would not open.
Marguerite had tried for some unknown amount of time to force them, but her body would simply not follow her mind’s commands. Since every bone and muscle and place on her body ached with unrelenting pain, she simply decided that it was not yet time to awaken. The warmth of the chamber and the softness of the mattress upon which she lay pulled her back into sleep’s embrace.
The noises of a large group of people wakened her and this time she was able to open her eyes and sit up. Pushing her matted hair out of her face and stretching to remove the painful tightness in her back and legs, Marguerite looked around the large room and realized where she was.
Inside the black tower of Silloth Keep. This would be her prison for the rest of her life.
She slid from the bed and crossed the room to reach the one window in it. A seat with a thick cushion had been fashioned from the alcove surrounding the window and Marguerite sat down there, exhausted from just the few steps she’d taken to reach it. Examining the carvings that decorated the walls next to the window, Marguerite knew that this would be a pleasant place when the sun shone through the window and warmed it.
The walls are ten feet thick in the keep and it is one of very few stone-walled castles in northern England.
She heard Orrick’s voice as he told her of his home. All she could think of when she saw it for the first time was that it was once of the darkest and most primitive buildings she’d ever seen. With its square shape and unmarked towers, it looked sinister against the sky behind it.
It was built of stone to withstand the power of the sea over which it stands and the winds that buffet it constantly. A wooden keep could never survive the forces here on the cliff.
Thinking on his words, she leaned closer to the glass to try to see out, but the darkness outside thwarted her efforts. She would need to wait until morning before she would see the extent of her prison. Tears gathered in her eyes and soon streamed down her face.
Why had Henry done this to her? She had pledged her love to him. She had promised to obey his every command. She had given herself, body, heart and soul, to him. She had even acknowledged her sin of overstepping her place with her demands. And still, Henry had not relented in this.
Now, she was married to this northern lord and taken as far from Henry as she could be in his vast kingdom. What was to become of her now? Out of favor and out of the king’s sight, she would be forgotten in the wilds of England and never regain her place in the king’s household and court. And some newer, younger, richer, more beautiful woman would take her place in Henry’s life and in his bed.
The sobs grew within her and finally, unable to hold them in, she let them out. Sliding onto the floor, she laid her face against the cushion and cried out her sorrow and fears. And when the tears no longer flowed and she was even more exhausted from giving in to the emotions, she fell asleep as she sat.

The noises that woke her next were those of servants moving around the chamber. Marguerite opened her eyes this time to find the strong early-morning sun streaming in through the window and shining on everything in the room. And without remembering how she had accomplished it, she was back in her bed, covered by several blankets. Trunks filled with her clothes lay scattered around the chamber and two young girls worked under Edmee’s guidance in emptying them and putting her garments in the large wooden chest. Even though she watched silently, her maid noticed her.
“My lady. You are awake! Have we been too loud in our work? Your lord husband thought it might give you some measure of comfort to have all your belongings settled when you woke.”
“Is that what he thought?” she asked. It was exactly what was being done—her clothes were put away and her looking glass, her brushes and hair combs were all neatly arranged on a small dressing table next to the window. She wasn’t certain how she felt about it.
“I beg your pardon for not being here when you awoke last eve, but your lord husband ordered me to go the main hall and eat.”
Edmee continued to explain her absence, but all Marguerite could do was wonder how she had gotten back to the bed from the window seat. She looked at the two girls who went about their tasks without acknowledging the conversation. They did not understand their language!
“Edmee, do they not speak Norman?”
She watched as the two exchanged a few furtive whispers, but gave no sign of knowing that they were the subject of her questions. But before her maid could answer her, a knock on the door interrupted them. The door opened and servants entered carrying a large wooden tub and buckets of water. With a method that spoke of efficiency, a bath was poured for her, platters of food placed on the table and those who had brought everything were gone without a word. Marguerite blinked several times, almost not believing that it had occurred at all.
The sight of Orrick in the doorway told her she had not dreamed it.
“My lady, allow me to welcome you to my home,” he said with a bow. He spoke English, which she refused to acknowledge. Not willing to lose all that she was, she gave him a blank look and waited.
“I had hoped, when I heard that you were gifted with the ability to speak and read several languages, that one of them might be English,” he said now in the Norman dialect of her homeland.
She gave a quick warning glance to Edmee so that her servant would not reveal her knowledge and then answered him.
“No, my lord. I speak my Norman dialect as well as langue d’oil and langue d’oc, Latin and some Greek and Italian. But I do not speak English. I am fluent in those tongues used on the continent, where I expected to live.” She aimed her words at him and his pride, hoping to remind him of how much this place was not a desirable location in the Plantagenet world.
If her sting was successful, she knew not, for he simply nodded and waved the servants out. Edmee hesitated for a moment but at Orrick’s dark expression, she curtsied and left with the others. Then he closed the door.
“My lady,” he began as he approached her, “with your obvious gift for spoken languages, I would ask that you learn the one that is mine and my people’s. As their lady, you will need to converse with them.”
“I will not be here long enough to worry about such a thing,” she blurted out. There was a part of her that still believed that Henry was simply drawing out the lesson he taught her and that he had not abandoned her at all.
Lord Orrick stalked her across the room and towered over her, forcing her to tilt her head if she wished to look into his eyes. She did not, so she lowered her chin and turned her head away. All it took on his part was two fingers under her chin and she faced him in spite of her decision not to. He was as strong as he looked, and fighting him would simply leave her bruised, something she did not wish to experience.
“I had hoped that when you awoke from your melancholy state and, after you regained your strength from the long ordeal of journeying almost the length of England to get here, you would realize the folly of your belief. Be clear on this matter—Henry has rid himself of you. He has graciously, as only kings can do, taken his problem and made it my own.”
He could not have hurt her more if he had delivered the blow with his hand instead of his words. He understood her deepest fear and her deepest desire and used it against her. Marguerite willed the tears not to gather again, but her efforts were unsuccessful. All she could do was look away from his gaze.
He released her and stepped back. She dared a glance at him now that there was some distance between them. Although his voice had softened with his horrible words, his face and eyes had hardened.
“Marguerite, there is much we will need to work out between us, but there will be time for that. For now, refresh yourself and rest.” He pointed to the tub and the food. “Join me at the evening meal in the hall and I will present you to your people.”
He did not wait for a response from her, which was probably a smart thing on his part. So many thoughts, so many replies were racing through her mind that she could not have chosen only one as an answer to his request.
Marguerite knew only she did not want to be here. She did not want to be married to Orrick. She wanted to return to the court and seek to repair the damage done between her and the king. But for now, she must bide her time and plan an escape from this unbearable place and marriage.
Orrick pulled open the door and called to her servants to assist her. As they hurried into the room to do her bidding, she caught Orrick’s gaze for a moment. The pity she saw there struck at her and she resolved to remove it. Any other emotion was acceptable—anger, disappointment, even hatred. But not pity.
Suddenly exhausted from the exchange of words with Orrick, Marguerite allowed Edmee to take control and soon found herself sinking into the first hot bath she’d taken since the day of her…the day she left Woodstock and the king.

“Is the lady coming to break her fast here?” Gavin asked as Orrick made his way to his chair at the long table. His foster brother was enjoying his discomfort much too much for Orrick’s liking.
“She is not,” he answered as he sat down. “The lady is still exhausted from the journey. She will join us for the evening meal.”
Gavin laughed heartily and Orrick fought the urge to wipe the smile from his face with his fist. Waiting until the servant filled his cup and moved away, Orrick held his tongue.
“’Tis partly your fault for scaring her to death in the yard.” He said it, but he knew it for the lie it was as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Did you tell her you were leaving on the morrow?”
“Nay.”
“What did you tell her? Did you ask for the truth?” Gavin lowered his voice. “Is she breeding your king’s bairn?”
“I did not ask her.” Orrick busied himself choosing a chunk of bread and another of cheese.
“What did you say, then? You must get to the truth and soon.”
Gavin meant well; he knew that. But the doubts that had plagued him before his marriage plagued him more now, and being questioned over this was not to his liking.
“We had a brief conversation which consisted of the lady offering insult after insult and me trying to ignore and rationalize them.”
“I will tell you what she needs. The lady needs to be reminded of her dishonor. The lady needs to remember why she is here at all. The lady—”
“Will learn all those things in good time, friend.” Orrick clapped Gavin on the back. “There is no need to crush her into the ground on her first day, is there?”
Gavin did not look certain, as though part of him thought that grinding her resistance down quickly was the best way. But his friend was not cruel at heart and he knew Gavin would support him in anything he did, even taming his wife’s unruly spirit. Before turning the conversation back to his impending visit to the abbey, Orrick drank deeply of his ale.
“I should be no longer than two days at the abbey.”
“That long?”
“The journey to Woodstock and back took more time than I expected and there will much to catch up on with Godfrey. Would you accompany me?”
“Are you taking Norwyn?”
“Nay, he will stay here.”
“Then so will I,” Gavin replied. “After all, I am a hostage here.”
“And when did your status as hostage ever prevent you from coming with me?” Orrick noticed the gleam in his friend’s eyes and realized his aim. “I do not want her abused, Gavin. Not by my mother and not by you.”
Gavin began to sputter a reply, but Orrick stopped him. “She answers to me and to no one else. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Orrick. I do.”
“Marguerite is on her own for the first time in her life, with no one to protect her by name or position. She is testing to discover my limits. You know better than anyone that I have them, and so will my wife.”
Gavin nodded and the meal was finished in silence. There was much Orrick needed to do before he could leave again, and at least one conversation with his wife that he would rather not have. But as lord of these lands, ’twas his responsibility to carry out his duties, no matter his personal wants or needs. And his oversight of the abbey’s lands and lucrative salt lathes was part of that and could not be avoided or ignored.
Orrick stood and took leave of Gavin who was busy flirting with one of the servants. He’d postponed his meeting with Norwyn last evening and now needed to review the records here and give instructions for his absence for the trip to Abbeytown.
All through the day, as he met with his steward, the captain of his soldiers, and discussed the coming harvest with those who oversaw his farmlands to the south, his mind drifted back to the woman in the keep. Drawn by the vulnerability of her soft crying, he had watched her as she sobbed out her sadness. With the door between their rooms opened but a crack, he waited until she fell asleep and then carried her to her bed.
Although he had had his share of women, he was not experienced in the ways of love. He’d search his mind for words to say to her to make her understand Henry’s actions, but there were none. She was obviously so much in love with the king that she could not comprehend that his heart, if it ever were involved, had changed toward her. His plans for her certainly had and Orrick understood all too clearly his selection as her bridegroom—good bloodlines, loyal and far enough away to keep her out of the king’s sight and way.
Until she accepted that this was not a temporary stay, but her home, there would be no peace between them. Any hopes that Orrick had for a happy marriage depended on her giving up her hopes of the king calling her back to him. Lady Marguerite was not about to do that. Not now, and probably not for a long time.
He may not know love, but he knew the ways of the Plantagenets. Orrick’s father had watched them before him and, although he had no wish to be involved in the intrigues of the court, he knew them nonetheless. The king was a decisive leader, and once Henry had made the decision to give her in marriage, she was gone from his thoughts and certainly from his heart.
Now, all that had to happen was for her to learn that hard lesson. Tonight’s dinner would be the start of it.

Chapter Six
Pride filled his heart as he surveyed the hall. His people had put forth their best efforts in trying to impress their new lady. The rushes on the floor were new and freshly scented with herbs. The tables had been scrubbed clean and everyone present seemed a bit cleaner and shinier to him, as though they had all washed and dressed in their best. Even Gavin had shaved and looked more like an English nobleman than a Scots warrior-chief.
Now, they waited for Marguerite to arrive. She was late for the announced meal time, but Orrick was willing to give her a few minutes. He was drinking his second goblet of wine when she entered.
The wait had been worth it.
No longer the road-weary traveler, Marguerite had chosen a rose-colored gown that complemented her complexion. Now restored by a night and day of rest, she walked confidently to the dais and then up the steps until she stood before him. Her beauty nearly made him jump over the table to reach her instead of walking around it. Gavin must have known the impulses surging through him or seen the lust he knew must be clear on his face, for his friend cleared his throat loudly and Orrick understood the message.
Control.
Dignity.
Hell!
Orrick strode quickly around to her and held his breath as she lowered into a curtsy before him, as a dutiful wife would before her lord husband. He took her hand and helped her rise, still surprised by her behavior. He had expected some sulking and unpleasantness. Instead the perfect woman presented herself to him and his people.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist, watching her eyes to see her reaction. Marguerite startled, but not enough that anyone but he could see it. As she moved to stand at his side, he entwined his fingers with hers and held on to her hand. He turned to the others.
“I thank you for your efforts in making this meal and this occasion a special one. Now, I ask you to make welcome my…wife, the Lady Marguerite of Alencon.” His voice broke slightly as he referred to her as wife for the first time before his people. Some of his servants had been with his family since before his birth and he felt a nervousness not known before as he tried to impress them.
Marguerite’s gaze met his and he saw the puzzlement there. Then he realized he had spoken in English and she probably had not understood a word of it except her name.
“My lady, I thanked them for making your first meal in our hall a special one. They have worked hard to make your welcome a good one,” he said in Norman. Continuing once more in English for his people, he said, “My lady does not speak our language, at least not yet, and so I ask you for your assistance in making her welcome.”
His throat tightened as the clapping began in the back of the hall and spread forward, getting louder as it did so. Some called out her name and some called out “Huzzah.” He smiled as he looked at her.
Marguerite lowered her head in an acknowledgment of their welcome and then returned his smile. Leading her to their seats, he was surprised again when she stopped near his mother and curtsied to her, as well. This sign of respect was not missed and the crowd cheered again. Marguerite hesitated only a moment when she caught sight of Gavin, and then she continued toward the center chairs.
Finally, they were seated and, with his wave, the servants first approached with a bowl of water for washing their hands. Then they surrounded the table to place platters of fish and fowl and beef and mutton before them. Warm loaves of white flour bread and tubs of freshly churned butter were delivered to the table, as well. Cabbage and peas, stewed with mustard seed and pepper, and boiled turnips completed this course. Orrick nodded and everyone began to serve themselves, each two sharing a trencher between them. Because of the occasion, Orrick had ordered that the silver platters he owned be used as well as the silver spoons for those at his table.
The meal commenced and he spent his time offering Marguerite the choicest of the foods placed before them. She smiled and accepted them with a grace he had not seen before. Conversations swirled around them and he translated for her. Soon, the main dishes were removed and the cook delivered some treats that he had prepared especially for this meal. A warm tart of apples and pears filled the air with the smell of cloves and cinnamon as it was brought to table. It was his favorite and he told Marguerite of it.
This was proceeding far better than he thought it would and Orrick found himself relaxing as he finished his wine. His wife was a changeable woman. Mayhap she had accepted her fate? Could this work out between them?
With those thoughts, others broke through. He had been aware of her throughout the meal. He noticed the smell of the soap she’d washed with and the softness of her skin when she placed her hand in his. Her glorious hair, wrapped into two long braids, still made his hands itch to touch it. When she leaned closer to share a quiet comment with him, he was sorely tempted to turn his face and take her lips in a kiss.
But one glance at his mother’s worried expression and he remembered what he wanted to forget—she might be breeding and he must know before he bedded her. Otherwise, as his mother’s words had warned, he would raise the king’s bastard as his heir and never know. Another whiff of her enticing scent and the sound of her husky whisper near his ear and Orrick was not certain that his mother’s way was the right one.
She was his wife and any son she gave birth to was legally his heir. Since he had raised no objection to the marriage, he had no recourse but to accept any child she bore as his. And if she carried a child by Henry and he made it known, only he would suffer embarrassment for her role as Henry’s mistress was known.
Marguerite raised her eyes to him and he reached over and pushed a stray tendril of hair off of her face. She did not flinch at his touch and even leaned into his hand, turning a casual touch into almost a caress. Heat raced through him and he felt a certain part of his body harden in response to her acceptance. His blood pounded in his veins and he knew that he would have her this night and not wait for an answer to the question his mother had raised.
His bride was no cringing virgin. She knew the ways of physical love and seemed to welcome his attentions. Mayhap ’twas best to get this first joining over quickly so that their fears and nervousness would cease?
Aye. He would not wait. He would have her.
As if she’d read his thoughts, Marguerite leaned closer and spoke to him.
“May I have your permission to seek my chambers, my lord?”
The urge to kiss her grew until he thought he would die if he did not taste her mouth. She smiled and waited for his answer.
Orrick cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, my lady. Mother, would you accompany Marguerite?”
Although his mother’s face hardened, she nodded and rose. Marguerite stood and curtsied to him. He noticed a blush creeping up from the fair skin of her chest where it was exposed by the cut of her gown, onto her neck and cheeks. He stood and kissed her hand once more and then watched her leave the table and make her way to the stairs that led to their chambers. His mother glanced at him before she followed his wife out.
He knew of his mother’s concern, but nothing could change the fact that Marguerite was his wife. He must take this important step in establishing their relationship.
“I guess the lady’s temperament has improved with some rest and good food, then?” Gavin’s words interrupted his thoughts.
“’Twould seem so.”
Gavin grabbed his arm and pulled him to his seat. “You must not appear too eager or you lose your advantage, Orrick.”
“What advantage?”
“You are lord here. Even when hot with lust, you must appear to be in control of your actions.”
“She is my wife and it is my right to have her,” he answered. Focusing his attention on his friend, he was puzzled by Gavin’s words. “Say whatever it is you hint at.”
“Do not be fooled by the display she presented to you and your people. There is more to her than a biddable wife.”
“And that would be…?” he asked.
“I do not know yet, but tread carefully with her.”
“Are you saying you think her a danger to me or to Silloth?” It was absurd, but he had learned to trust Gavin’s judgment. “Tell me what you suspect.”
Gavin took a deep breath in and let it out, looking around at those still at table and in the hall. Then he shook his head and spoke quietly. “Go. Wear yourself out in her bed. You are thinking with your cock now and my words will mean nothing until you have satisfied your need for her.”
He should not have been surprised by Gavin’s candid words, but he was. He began to argue, but Gavin stopped him.
“Your pardon, Orrick. Go. May you find joy in your marriage bed.” Before Orrick could speak, Gavin grabbed the jug of wine from the table, handed it to him and strode off.
His body reminded him of the woman waiting for him and he took one more look around the hall before leaving. The expressions of his people told him that they knew his condition. With nothing more to do or say, he carried the jug of wine with him and made his way to his chambers.

Her skin itched where he had touched her. Marguerite shuddered as she thought of his mouth on her hand and her wrist and the way he touched her face. Thankfully the meal had ended and, if she could endure the next hour, she would be free of him and his attentions for at least several days. ’Twas the reason she played this game with him now—let him have his way with her and then hopefully she could keep him away while she worked on a way to return to Henry.
She walked up the stairs silently. Edmee and his mother trailed her, whispering words that she neither could hear nor cared about. Soon she reached the third floor and walked into her chamber. Spying the door that opened into his room, she crossed to her dressing table and sat down. Edmee poured water that had been heating in the hearth into a bowl and brought it to her for washing.
The tension in the room grew as her mother-by-marriage remained at the door watching her. Finally, the lady ordered Edmee from the room and closed the door behind her.
“He is a good man, Marguerite.”
“Of course, he is, my lady.” She turned to face the older woman.
“If you give him but a small opportunity, he could bring you great happiness.”
Marguerite forced a smile to her face and nodded. “Of course,” she said again.
“But play him falsely and you risk great loss. He has been kind to you, making every effort to welcome you and to accept you in spite of…your past. Do not mistake his kindness for weakness or you will rue the day you underestimated him.”
“Have I done something to offend you, my lady? I offer my apologies for my behavior during our journey. I confess that I was overwrought due to the hardness and length of it.” She lowered her head and waited on Orrick’s mother.
“I am not offended, my dear. I simply offer my advice as one woman to another who understands the difficulty of being the stranger in a new place.”
Luckily, a knock at the door interrupted them. Marguerite rose and went to the door, ignoring the hard stare that followed her across the room.
“My lady, my lord Orrick is on his way from the hall.”
She waved the servant in and faced Orrick’s mother. “If you will excuse me, I would prepare for my lord’s arrival.”
Lady Constance came close to her and spoke so that the servant could not hear. “I know you are not a stupid woman, Marguerite. Heed my warning.”
Shaken by the implied threat, she would not give the older woman the satisfaction of knowing how the words had affected her. Marguerite used the look of startled innocence she had perfected long ago and blinked several times. The sound of Orrick’s approach prevented anything else from being said and Edmee closed the door after Lady Constance left.
Orrick’s steps continued past her door and she could hear his servant speaking to him. Marguerite stood before the fire and allowed Edmee to unlace her ties and remove both her tunic and the gown beneath it. When the girl reached to lift her chemise, Marguerite stopped her and waved her out.
She had not stood naked before a man in many months and she hesitated to do so now. She slid her hands over her breasts and her stomach and wondered if the changes were apparent to anyone else. Would he know she had given birth? Was there some way that a man could tell? ’Twas at times like this that she found herself wishing that she had someone to ask. Marguerite was so used to depending only on herself, that it occurred rarely, but still…
The snap of the wood in the hearth dragged her attention back and she realized that she was not alone. Turning, she saw Orrick standing in the shadows of the doorway. She could hear his breathing and swore she could feel his heat as much as that thrown off by the hearth. She would play on his desire and get this over as quickly as possible. Quick and over.
Her thin chemise allowed the light of the flames to pass through it and Marguerite stood so that the material became transparent. From his indrawn breath, she knew she was exposed to him. Reaching her arms up, she lifted her braids and tugged the ties from them. Shaking her head, she allowed her hair to unravel behind her. Orrick probably did not even realize that he had taken several steps toward her. It had never failed her in the past and it did not now.
He approached her stealthily, like a hunting cat moving in on its prey. He pulled the loose robe he wore off and stood naked before her. She could not help but admire his muscular form and masculine attributes. He fisted and opened his hands as he got closer and she shook her head again, teasing him. She knew she’d been successful when he took her in his arms and held her so tightly that she thought she could not breathe. Then he slid his hands into her hair and wrapped it around his hands over and over until she could not move.
His mouth was hot and wet and took hers. His tongue sparred with hers and he tasted of wine and lust. Although she stood trapped in his embrace, she was not idle. Leaning against him, she let him feel her body with his. She met his kiss and his tongue with her own and felt his hardness press against her belly. He was breathless when he lifted his mouth from hers and she closed her eyes so he could not see how unmoved she was.
Then, suddenly, he released her and stepped away. The air chilled her now that his heat was removed. Startled by his action, she watched as he looked over her from toe to head and then his gaze focused on her belly and breasts. His breathing was rough and labored and now she found hers matching it. Unable to stop it, her body tingled now under his gaze and moisture gathered in the place between her thighs.

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