A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden #3)

A Whisper Of Rosemary (Medieval Herb Garden #3) Page 47

A pleasant shiver spiraled down to her belly, fluttering and heating her insides. Her mouth became dry at the thought of his lips, his hands and that great, muscular body against hers, touching her, joining with her. The heat she’d come to associate with Dirick pooled in her middle, surging to her womanly place, causing her breasts to tingle, and she drew a deep breath.

She suddenly became aware that she was not alone.

Her eyes flew open and she saw a page standing there, just off to the side, as if waiting for her to acknowledge him. He held a silver goblet encrusted with rubies and sapphires, and when her attention rested upon him, he gave a short bow, proffering the cup.

“My lady Maris, I am sent by your husband with this gift to quench your thirst.”

Her face heated at the possibility that Dirick was nearby and had seen her mooning over him. When she looked about, however, she saw that no one else was in the vicinity, and she returned her gaze to the page. “Is he not to join me?” She tried to submerge the pang of disappointment.

The page shook his head. “Nay, lady. The lord said only that ’tis a gift to you, his bride, and that he looks to the day you shall become one.”

Maris took the goblet, admiring its weight. “Thank you, and you may thank my lord for his thoughtfulness as well.”

The page bowed, turned, and walked sedately from the courtyard, leaving Maris alone with the bees.

Ruby wine glistened in its silver cup, and she took a sip before resting it on the bench beside her. Mayhap Dirick, too, was willing to put their differences behind them as their wedding day drew near. It would be more than she could hope that he would welcome their marriage for more than the riches and lands she would bring him.

Another sigh escaped her lips. She could not deny it any longer: she loved him.

Though he caused her ire to rise at their every meeting, he was never far from her thoughts…and the memory of his touch lived in her dreams.

The soft rustle of someone’s approach brought Maris’s attention from the goblet beside her. Without looking up, she knew it was Dirick.

“My lady.” He greeted her solemnly, almost warily.

She raised her face to him and was immediately ensnared in his piercing grey-blue gaze. “My lord. I did not think you would join me.”

He looked at her, tilting his head to one side as if surprised as her reaction. “The ladies told me you’d come for some air. I thought to sit with you for a time, as I’ve been otherwise occupied with the king for the last days.”

Her heart leapt. He had sent her a gift, and then he’d sought her out. “Please have a seat.”

“Our betrothal contracts have been finished,” he began, sinking onto the bench next to her.

A sense of disappointment settled in her middle. He’d not come to be with her for any other reason than to talk of their contract, and of the lands she would bring him. “Verily they meet your approval,” she replied coolly, refusing to look at him or his gift, “and that of the king.”

She felt him nod next to her. “Aye. They are more than fair, and follow the wishes of your father.”

“My father?”

“In the missive he sent to the king, he repudiated your betrothal with Victor. He also named you as his heir, though you are not of his blood, and—”

“What?” Maris turned to him, shock numbing her. “What did you say?”

“You did not know?” Dirick’s face showed his concern.

“That I am not of my father’s blood? Nay! Nay, I did not!” She felt lightheaded, lost, paralyzed. “How can that be?”

He reached for her hand, and the warmth of his fingers over her suddenly icy ones was welcome. “I am sorry that this is a surprise. Your father stated that he married your mother though he knew she was with child, but because he was unable to father a child, he chose to accept her babe as his heir. ’Twas the agreement he made with King Stephen.” The breeze ruffled his hair, tossing a wave onto his forehead as he gazed at her.

“Who is my father?”

He stroked her hand. “I do not know that, my lady. He did not say in the missive.”

“Jesù,” she breathed. “And that is why he and my mother never had another child.” Tears dampened her eyes and an empty, bereft feeling settled with her heart. “He was my father, though I am not of his loins. I do not care that another man sired me.”

Dirick nodded. “Merle was a fine man and had I not my own father whom to admire, I’d be proud to be of his blood.” He pressed her index finger to his lips. “The contracts are ready to be signed.” He hesitated, then said, “I will have them brought to you, should you wish, before I place my seal upon them. If there is aught that you do not like, I will try to change it to your liking.”

Maris could only stare at him. He asked for her agreement before he signed the contracts? What man would do that? “My lord, I do not know what to say.” Indeed, her tongue stuck in her throat, her mind both shocked and delighted at the realization that he should care for her opinion. “I—I…I thank you, Dirick, for your consideration. If you believe they are fair, and if they allow me to retain mine own lands should you pre decease me, I shall not contest them.”

“Henry showed me the missive from your father, and his wishes were just that. Your dowry is generous and shall also be returned to you should I die, and even if we produce an heir, those lands shall revert to you upon my death. Our heir should accede to Ludingdon and Fairhill, unless ’tis a girl, and then, if you wish, she shall have Langumont.”

“’Tis more than fair.” She could barely form the words as she suddenly had an image of the babe they would produce. Her throat was dry, and she reached for the wine. “Thank you, my lord, for this beautiful gift,” she raised the cup to him, then to her mouth to drink.

The goblet never made it to her lips, as a sudden force sent it spinning to the ground. Maris shrank back from him in surprise as much from his action as the fierce look on his face.

“I did not give you such a gift.” His grey eyes had darkened ominously, turning into steel in his ferocity. “How did you come by that thought?”

She could not speak for a moment, so unexpected was his reaction. Then, sanity reigned, and she replied, “But only moments before you came to me, a page delivered it, saying ’twas a gift from you.”

“Did you drink of it?” He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her near him as he searched her eyes. “Maris, did you?”

Maris pulled sharply away. “Aye, but no more than a small sip. What ails you, Dirick?”

“It could have been poisoned. It most likely was poisoned!”

“Why should anyone poison me?” She could not contain her shock.

“For the same reason they should try to run you down in the market place. I do not know.” His face sagged into serious concern. “Maris, you must have a care! Someone here does not want you to live. Promise me, promise me, that you will go nowhere without me or Raymond until we leave this place.”

Maris nodded, the lump in her throat lodging any words she may have wished to speak inside. Why should anyone wish to kill her?

“Did you recognize the page? What did he say?”

She shook her head and described what had happened when he’d brought the wine. There were no answers there, she knew, and even only the suspicion that the wine had been poisoned. They would never know for certain.

“We will leave Westminster the day after we are wed,” Dirick told her firmly. “I will take you to Derkland for a time, to meet my mother, and then we shall go on to Ludingdon. At any rate, I shall take you away from this place and we shall stay where I know you will be safe. No one will be able to get to you in Derkland or at Ludington.”

Maris was just about to speak when another page approached. “My lady Maris?” She nodded acquiescence and he bowed. “I have been asked to inform you that your mother, Lady Allegra of Langumont, has arrived.”

“My mother?” she repeated dumbly. She had hardly given Allegra a thought in the last se’ennight.

“Aye. She has been shown to the ladies’ chamber, and wishes you to attend her.”

Maris rose, guilt blossoming inside her. “Aye. I will go to her.” She looked down at Dirick, who stared up at her with eyes that seemed to devour her. “I will look to see you at dinner this night,” she said, barely resisting the urge to touch his cheek.

“My lady, I look more to two days hence when we shall be wed.” He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to the inner part of her wrist, then released her. “Until then.”

Allegra had been summoned to Westminster in order to attend her daughter’s wedding. She’d had no choice but to respond to the king’s wishes, and the journey had been one of haste and discomfort.

When Maris appeared, she wore a surprised but pleased expression on her face. “Mama! How glad I am that you have come to see me wed!”

Allegra drew her daughter into a brief embrace, then set her back gently. When had her daughter grown into such a lovely, strong young woman? “You are to marry Sir Dirick de Arlande?”

“Aye, only now he is called Lord Dirick of Ludingdon.” Maris sat in a chair next to her. “Mama, why did you not tell me Papa is not my father?”

Allegra’s heart skittered in her chest, and stopped beating for a moment. “How did you come to learn this?”

A familiar expression of stubbornness crossed her daughter’s face. “It does not matter how I came to learn of it, only whether ’tis true.”

She closed her eyes, struggling to manage the sudden horrible foreboding that settled like a heavy stone in her middle. “Aye, daughter, ’tis true. Your papa did not sire you.” She clenched her hands tightly. “But how did you come to learn this? Tell me.”

“Papa wrote it in a missive to the king,” Maris explained.

“Your papa?” Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. “Your papa told the king?”