The King's Mistress
Autorzy
Terri Brisbin
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19,2K
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25
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?
