He turned his attention back to Judith. “Do you remain here for this day. You will rest and sleep and eat. I will send Tabatha with a pallet and more food. And you will better be able to face the queen’s demands on the morrow. It will take some time for me to arrange things and I do not wish her to be suspicious or otherwise on her guard, for our wedding must happen quickly before they can stop it.”
Darkness crossed his face and his jaw shifted. “As for the king….” Malcolm stopped, his lips compressing, his expression turning deathly cold. “I shall do what I can to keep the king distracted. He will not call for you this night.”
Judith did not respond. Instead, she swallowed the thick lump in her throat and refused to look at him again. Pray God his plan would work. “Very well, my lord Warwick. I will remain here.”
“I will not return,” he said, rising slowly to tower over her. “Nor seek you out. There can be no hint of our plan, Judith. But know that I will make the necessary arrangements. If you need to contact me, send quietly from Tabatha to Nevril.”
He turned to leave, then paused, the sole of his boot grinding softly on the stone floor. “Malcolm. I am not Warwick to you, my lady. Only Malcolm.”
The second day after Judith and Malcolm spoke in the chapel, her monthly flux began.
Her first reaction was one of wild relief and delight. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes and she had never been more thankful for the monthly inconvenience. She would not bear the king’s child after all! And, thanks to Lady Maris’s special tea—which Judith made certain she drank every day—that would likely not change.
But quickly on the heels of this great reversal of bad fortune came a dismaying realization.
There was no longer any need for Malcolm to wed her.
Ah. Thus and so is my prayer answered…yet again.
Now he could be freed of the black muck of her life, and he could go on his way and wed Beatrice of Delbring as he always intended. For it had not escaped Judith’s notice that, despite the wealthy beauties at court and the pressure from herself and the queen to consider other than Lady Beatrice, none seemed to have caught Malcolm’s eye.
I am not Warwick to you. Only Malcolm.
She shook her head. Nay. He must be Warwick to me again. And I must send word to him.
Judith sat down, suddenly cold.
As it happened, she was in her chamber alone in the midday. The queen, miraculously, had not summoned her this morrow because she and her ladies were meeting with a new fabrics master to pore over bolts and bolts of new materials—silks and fine cottons and even something called gossamer—from Antioch, Cairo, and Jerusalem. The news was that six wagons had brought the goods into the castle, and that another three more were imminent. Once, Judith would have been in the midst of such excitement—and delighted to be there. But no longer; the queen wanted her nowhere about during such an event.
Thus, she had the perfect opportunity to send a message to Malcolm. And yet she sat on her stool by the fire, staring into the anemic summer flames. Her lungs and chest felt tight and heavy. I am still trapped. And he will soon belong to Beatrice of Delbring.
Judith was not certain which of her two fates was worse.
A knock on the door brought her wearily to her feet. The sound heralded only bad news as of late and she dragged herself to answer it. What more could happen?
But to Judith’s surprise, Lady Maris stood on the threshold. “May I come in?”
“Of course,” Judith replied after a moment of confusion. She stepped away from the door and closed it behind her friend. “I did not know you’d returned.”
“Aye. Only just some short while ago.” Maris’s shrewd green-brown eyes searched her countenance. “What is it? You have been ill. I can see it in your face—you are thin and weary. You are with child, then?” Her voice was grim.
“Nay. Nay, I have just this morn learned I am not with child,” Judith confessed.
“But you are unhappy?” Maris’s tone was neutral, though her expression didn’t quite succeed in matching it.
Judith took a deep breath and then before she could stop them, tears began to flow. All of her weariness, frustration and fear came tumbling out. She told Maris the whole of it—of Eleanor’s punishment of her and Judith’s servitude thus, the intimate details of Henry’s increasing demands, how she was trapped in a never-ending struggle of power between the king and queen…and, finally, of her conversation with Malcolm.
During Judith’s speech, Maris helped her to sit on the bed. She settled next to her, holding her friend’s hands as she listened. Her face betrayed no expression until Judith finished speaking. Then she blinked and said ruefully, “Less than a se’ennight I was gone and all of this has happened. ’Tis glad I am that this court is not my home.”
Judith wiped her eyes and blew her nose, feeling more than a little foolish for her mad torrent of words and tears. “Forgive me, Lady Maris. I had no cause to pile all of my worries on you.” She realized with a stab of fear that she’d done what Malcolm warned her not to do—to tell anyone of their impending marriage. Not that it would matter any longer, but she had betrayed his confidence. Again my foolish tongue!
“Very well. So we must reassess the situation. First,” Maris said, digging in a small pouch hanging from her belt, “I have brought you something to assist with the king. And now that I have learned the whole story, ’twill help you with the queen…at the least for a time. I meant for you to have a rest from the king’s attentions, but now that you are bleeding, you can send word to him of that. Surely he will give you a reprieve of some days.”
“Aye,” Judith said, hoping Maris was correct. As the queen had pointed out, however, there were other ways to pleasure a man aside of copulation. And Henry never seemed to tire of her.
“But this,” Maris said, giving her a small vial, “will ensure you have at the least three days of peace. Mayhap longer.” Judith took it and looked at the dark brown liquid, then back up as her friend explained, “’Twas my great luck to come upon an herbary during our journey. ’Tis a rare plant, and I paid a grand sum for it—aye, you shall find a way to compensate me betimes, for Dirick bellowed quite loudly when he learned of the cost—but when you drink it with some small bit of water—take care, for ’tis foul-tasting and bitter—you will soon show red patches all over your body. They will itch, but they are harmless and will disappear after some days. But I promise you, the king—and likely the queen—will not wish to be in the presence of aught so ugly and contagious. And I will assure them that ’tis not a deadly disease, but they do not wish to be exposed.” Maris’s eyes danced and she looked as if she would love such a jest.
Judith took the vial, herself smiling at the thought. “Thank you, my lady. ’Tis very thoughtful of you. I shall use it as needed and I will most definitely repay you.”
“Now. To your other, larger issue.” Maris clicked her tongue and pulled her knees up to her chest, easing back further onto the bed as her bliaut and kirtle bunched up around her. “Ah,” she said with a smile, “’tis long since I’ve been able to this—for having a babe in the belly made it impossible to even see my feet, much less pull them up like this.”
Judith nodded, but her thoughts went immediately from large bellies carrying babes to the niggling knowledge of what she must tell Malcolm.
As if reading her mind, Maris said, “You are considering not telling Warwick.”
Though her friend’s tone was neutral, Judith flushed. “Nay. Not truly. Though ’tis a fantasy, I confess.”
“You could wait to tell him. What harm would there be—another day or two. Mayhap he will make the arrangements and you will be wed…and then your flux will come. And then he will know any babe planted in your belly is his.”
Judith felt a sharp stab at the thought of Malcolm planting a child in her belly—a pleasant, yet disappointed thought. “I cannot do that,” she said, shaking her head. “He does not deserve to be trapped along with me. ’Twas wrong of me to say such a thing in the first place, to capture him so.”
Maris tsked and sat up. “But it would solve your problem quite handily. And if your flux comes later…well then, you will already be wed. And he will have obtained a beautiful, wealthy wife for his troubles. ’Tis no bad bargain.”
“Along with the king’s wrath and the queen’s spleen,” Judith replied. “I could not bear that that burden be thrust on him, Maris. I truly could not.”
“I’ve found,” her friend said, “that betimes, the workings of a man’s mind is not the same as that of ours. They yearn for violence and bloodshed, for battle and war…and sometimes, their perception of honor is much different than that of ours. Methinks they oft prefer the chance to be honorable in a difficult situation than to have a quiet, simple life. He would do it for you.”
“’Tis true,” Judith replied. But her mind was made up; speaking with Maris had removed any last bit of doubt. As painful as it would be, as dark as her future might seem, she would release Warwick from their agreement.
“I do not know what it is has taken the stick from up his arse,” Nevril said to Gambert, “but I am near ready to praise it as a miracle.”
They stood in the bailey, just on the other side of the training yard’s gate. Both sweating, out of breath, and bare of torso, they’d just cleaned and put their swords away for the day. But they were smiling and in good humor, for their lord had not only not cursed them roundly—whilst pointing out each one’s failings on the field for all to hear—but neither had been landed on the field with his face plowed into the dirt, thanks to their ill-tempered but skillful master. Which had been happening with great regularity for nearly a se’ennight, and always accompanied by more bellowing and cursing from Lord Malcolm.
Gambert glanced to where his master was speaking to Lord Dirick, who’d returned to Clarendon with his wife only hours ago. “Praise God indeed,” the squire said. “Lord Mal is in such fine spirits these last days, I fair expect him to break into song.”
