"I've seen nor heard nothing of de Belgrume," Gavin told the king. It was evening, and he sat in a large cushioned chair in the king's private bedchamber.

Henry paced, as always, hands clasped behind his back. "He has been too quiet and I fear that he plots something. I much prefer to know where he is and what it is he does."

"I cannot disagree," Gavin replied. "But he seems to have disappeared and is nowhere to be found here at Whitehall. Mayhap he has taken his twisted self back to Tricourten for a time...but I do not believe that is likely."

"How come you on your task of finding a husband for that little nun?" Henry changed the subject.

Before Gavin could reply, a knock came at the chamber door and a squire entered. "Her majesty has arrived and awaits your pleasure," said the young man with a short bow.

"Indeed, I have been awaiting her for the last hour. Bid her enter." Henry waved his hand impatiently. "How can it take a woman so long to prepare for bed?" he grumbled.

"When one is preparing for bed with the king of the realm," a husky voice said from the doorway, "one must do the preparations justice."

Garbed in a fur-lined satin robe, Eleanor crossed the room. Giving a brief curtsey to her husband, she then raised a cheek to him. He kissed it and grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Madame, you are beautiful as always," he told her. When she glanced curiously at Gavin, the king explained, "I shall be only another short while. Please, sit...and mayhap you will have an opinion on the matter at hand."

He gestured to Gavin, who had risen upon Eleanor's entrance. "Your majesty, may I pour you some wine?"

"Only if 'tis from Aquitaine," she responded with a coy smile.

"Of course. The king has only the best of all vintages," he said smoothly, nodding pointedly in her direction to include her in the compliment.

She was delighted. "Gavin Mal Verne, I did not expect such an agreeable response from you. The ladies speak of you with such apprehension...half of them would swoon if you so much as looked at them, they fear your black moods so much." She laughed and took the goblet that he offered to her. "Now I know better and will not allow them to speak thus."

Gavin wasn't certain how to respond, so he merely nodded again and, after she sat, he, too, sank into a chair. Henry continued to pace, fussing with his tunic, a sheaf of parchments, his goblet of wine...whatever it was that caught his eye and allowed him to expend energy.

"Do you hunt with us on the morrow?" Eleanor asked Gavin.

"Aye, your majesty. I didn't know that you planned to join us."

She nodded regally, her blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. "I and several of my ladies will join you. I look forward to fresh venison or mayhap a wild pig if all goes well."

The king seemed to pull himself from the frenetic activity of pacing the chamber back to his companions and his own agenda. "So, Gavin, have you found a husband for Madelyne de Belgrume? The sooner she is wed and bed, the easier I shall feel-for de Belgrume will have no cause to disturb my court. And of course I shall assess a significant brides-price for her hand," he added, tugging at his beard.

Eleanor drained her goblet. "My solar is abuzz with the rumors that John of Kilharten plies for her suit, while Reginald D'Orrais appears to have the favor of all, including the lady herself."

Henry whirled, his overtunic spinning from his body like the petals of a flower. "And you-madame...who is your favorite to wed with the woman who would be a nun?"

"Reginald is a fine man-if a bit young, but fine enough for the likes of Madelyne. She will give him no trouble, and he is smart enough to keep her from the hands of her father."

"Gavin? Do you have a thought on this or will you continue to stare blankly at your hands while we make the decision?"

"I had not given D'Orrais much thought, my liege. As her majesty says, he is young...but smarter than Kilharten, who cannot tell his hand from his foot in the dark. Still, D'Orrais has little experience with a large fief such as Tricourten, and may not have the ability to keep it producing the rents you are accustomed to." Gavin knew that attacking the king's coffers was the most effective way to sway his opinion.

"Aye. Hmmm...well, you must make an assessment. I have too many other burdens to see to. I cannot bother myself much longer with this trite situation. Make a recommendation by three days hence, or I will make it easy and give the nun to D'Orrais. He isn't a bad choice-'tis your task to see that he is the best choice. Unless you find a compelling reason not to select him, 'twill be D'Orrais."

Henry looked pointedly at the chamber door. "You may leave us now."

Gavin bowed to the king, then for the queen, and took his leave.

The hall was dark-it was well past midnight-and he wended his way back toward the chamber set aside for several of the nobles such as himself.

Reginald D'Orrais...'t could be worse, had the king leaned toward Kilharten, or any of the other lascivious or stupid men who made up the court. At the least, D'Orrais was gentle with his horses-something that was a sure indication of his propensity toward others. And he was not stone dumb.

Madelyne appeared to have some fondness for the man. He seemed always to be at her side...and had even escorted her to her chamber on two occasions, as Jube and Rohan had reported. Gavin supposed he would be considered handsome to a young maid such as Madelyne-most especially to one who had had little interaction with men due to her days in the abbey.

He rounded the last corner, thinking little about where he was going, but focusing his attention on what could be wrong with D'Orrais-and why he would not be a prime choice for Madelyne-and hurtled straight into a warm, soft person.

"Lord Gavin," murmured a familiar voice. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Therese?" he responded, refocusing his thoughts. "What are you doing out of your chamber at such an hour?"

She placed her hand on his arm, smoothing it up toward his shoulder. "I had hoped you would return this evening that we might have some moments to...talk."

"Talk?" Gavin repeated in confusion. Then, her very insistent hand moved over his chest and, tugging his arm, propelled him toward her.

"Nay, you are correct. Talk is not what I would prefer from you," she murmured, pressing her lips against his.

It was a testament to his confusion and distraction that Gavin did not feel the weight of the eyes staring from behind him as Therese pulled him into a dark alcove.

"There! 'Tis off through that underbrush!"

Gavin bent low over Rule's neck as the destrier thrashed through bushes and bramble in the wake of the dogs and a wild boar that was now their quarry. Thomas's mount nosed up beside his, and he could hear the crashing of the others just behind them.

Gripping his lance tightly, Gavin shouted, "I'm to the left!" and Rule veered off toward that direction in response to the pressure of his thighs. A low-hanging branch whipped toward him, and Gavin ducked in time to feel only the scrape of twigs over his bare head. Wearing a helm during a hunt was uncomfortable, but distaining one left a man vulnerable to being toppled from a mount or having a scratched face.

Gavin rose slightly in his saddle as Rule pounded through the wood, the stallion relishing the chase as much as his master. The baying of the hounds echoed shrilly in the air, and he saw the dark rump of the boar as it leapt over a small creek.

Some of the others in the party had split off to follow Gavin, while the main group continued on in the boar's path. "There! Again!" shouted Lord Ferrell, coming up from behind.

"Aye!" Gavin gave a short wave, bending low in the saddle, and feeling the exhilaration surge through him. Even if he didn't get a shot at the boar, the thrill of the ride and the wild danger was enough to satisfy him.

Ferrell's horse took a leap over a small bush and dashed ahead of Gavin and Rule, its rider throwing a white-toothed grin as they passed. "First!" he called back, letting Gavin know that he would take the initial shot and his friend should be prepared to follow with a second.

"Go!" Gavin shouted. He didn't need to kick Rule to urge the horse faster. They were bounding over fallen trees and between thin saplings at breakneck speed. Green and brown blurs passed on each side, broken only by splashes of bright sunshine where it streamed down into the forest in erratic patterns.

The hunt was dangerous-most especially for those in the lead, and even more so when it was a cornered boar they sought. Riding at top speed, dodging the pitfalls of a forest, and clutching a lance at the same time made it as hazardous as fighting a battle. The boar itself could be erratic and fast, and Gavin had seen more than one fatal swipe of a horn gouge man, horse, or dog.

The cry of the hounds grew more urgent, and he knew that the boar had been cornered. Shifting his lance, Gavin stood again in his saddle as Rule careened toward the noise and the scent of fear.

Just as Rule, nostrils flaring and breath streaming in hard pants that matched Gavin's own zeal, leapt over a fallen log, Gavin felt his left leg give way. In an instant, the world tilted and he was falling, rolling, crashing, out of control. A shout registered in his tumbled mind, pain seared along the shoulder and arm on which he'd landed, and a high-pitched squeal that meant danger to his ears shocked him to continue rolling back to his feet.

Dizzy, out of breath, Gavin groped for support at the log over which Rule had leapt and found himself facing a red-eyed, well-horned black boar. His fingers closed reflexively, but the lance was long gone during his tumble, and the boar was already charging.

Shouts and the thudding of hooves penetrated his mind as Gavin reached for a heavy stick. He swung at the tiny-eyed, black-bristled face as it barreled toward him. He connected with the flat nose that was close enough he could see water dripping from it, and an enraged squeal rent the air as Gavin stumbled away from its flailing hooves and overpowering stench.

Just as he hauled himself upright, another shout and a shriek of rage echoed in the clearing...followed by a second shriek that became almost a moan at the end. Thomas rode up at that moment, tossing Rule's reins to Gavin. "Are you hurt?" he asked as his friend heaved into the saddle.

"Nay," Gavin replied, breathless, as he gathered his wits about him enough to look at the scene before him. The boar lay on his side, shuddering its last breath, with three lances piercing its hide. The dogs sniffed eagerly, and were being called back by the masters even as the hunters clustered in more closely.

"What a fall!" Ferrell loped over on his mount. "What happened?"

Gavin suddenly remembered and slid off his saddle. "I felt the stirrup give way as Rule jumped," he told them, and held up the broken leather stirrup. "If I had not been standing for the leap, I'd likely have kept my seat," he frowned. "But it could not have broken on its own."

"Could you have sliced it with your lance?" asked Lord Michael d'Gloetherin.

"What fool do you think I am?" he snapped, suddenly feeling the pain in his shoulder and arm. "I manage my weapons and would not make such a foolish mistake. And, if I'd been so careless, or someone else had been close enough to be so, would not Rule have been cut as well?"

"Aye. And you have great care for your saddle and Rule," Thomas added gravely. His eyes met Gavin's and their suspicions mirrored each other. Fantin.

King Henry rode up at that moment. "Mal Verne-are you hurt? I did not see the fall, but I am told 'twas most magnificent." His infectious smile flashed as he saw that Gavin was unhurt.

"Though I would not wish to repeat it, I would agree that it would be hard to match it ever again." Gavin grunted in pain as Thomas jostled close enough to touch his shoulder. "I'll have some care to my arm when we return, but it does not pain me overmuch. Shall we ride on?"

"Nay. We return. The others found two deer and a wild pig, so we are in need of no more," replied another hunter.

Gavin would not have admitted it aloud, but he was thankful for the reason to return to the castle sooner rather than later. Now that his energy had ebbed and they rode along at a much less dangerous pace, the throbbing in his shoulder increased enough to make him grit his teeth and keep his conversation to a minimum.

A sudden thought bloomed in his mind, soothing his discomfort: he would return and seek out Madelyne to care for his hurt.

In the past, when he'd received small injuries, he would have squirreled out one of the king's squires or pages who could plaster on a paste of putrid herbs and wrap his injury-as would any other man injured in such a way. But now, he would impose upon her to see to his needs.

Her long, narrow fingers would smooth on some paste that likely smelled awful but cooled and appeased the injury. She'd wrap it gently and mayhap offer him a tea or infusion to drink to ease him in his sleep. And he'd think, yet again, of her as a calm, quiet Madonna...and smell the scent of her as she bent to him...and feel the warm heaviness of her touch....

The clattering of hooves across the wooden bridge leading to Whitehall pulled Gavin from those oddly disturbing thoughts, and the proximity to the woman in question brought upon more disconcerting ones. What if she didn't want to take care of him? She was not obliged, and he had no right to ask it of her. He shouldn't ask it of her. She owed him nothing and soon she would belong to Reginald D'Orrais.

The frown settling between his brows must have been a fierce one, for Thomas trotted over and said, "It appears that you are in more pain than you displayed in the wood. Allow me to have Rule brushed down and stabled for you. Seek you help in taking care of your injuries."

"I'm fine," Gavin replied gruffly, sliding down from his saddle. Clem appeared and 'twas with great relief that he handed the bridle to him. "Thomas, you have enough to do. Clem can take care of Rule for me." He looked at his man. "Do you know where Madelyne is? I have a need to speak with her."

Clem shifted as he fought to keep Rule from storming toward the stables. "I believe she is in the orchard garden. At the least, 'tis what her maid told me when I last saw the harpy some half hour past."

Gavin forbore to acknowledge his man's uncharacteristically caustic comment. Instead, he gave Rule a last pat of thanks for being so beautifully sure-footed, and said, "My thanks Clem. I'll be off to locate Lady Madelyne."

Though he started off with alacrity, Gavin slowed his footsteps as he approached what was known as the orchard garden. What fool was he that he should impose upon her-even that it should occur to him to seek her out to care for his needs? Indeed, why had it been such a natural, unconscious thought that he would go to her? She owed him naught but disdain, and, in truth, he was beholden to care for her far more than she would be answerable to his well-being.

Gavin's steps faltered as he found himself entering the garden-which was, in reality, more of a grove of trees and benches than any true orchard. She would be sitting with Judith, mayhap, and some other ladies who did not hunt, and he would thus approach like a young boy with a scraped knee.

Distaste filled his mouth and he whirled abruptly to leave. He would seek comfort from some other lady who might care to deliver it. He thought fleetingly of Lady Therese, who had kissed him well and soundly in the alcove the evening before...but then decided he preferred to find a squire taught in easing war wounds instead.

He'd taken two more steps back out of the garden when he heard his name called behind him. Cursing under his breath, he turned back to see Judith hailing him from near an apple tree.

"Gavin! Are you hurt?" she asked, reaching to touch his arm.

"Nay...only a small injury," he told her, glancing beyond her shoulder to see if Madelyne followed. Dirt and blood must have dried on his face for Judith to have guessed at his accident.

"If you seek Madelyne," Judith spoke, reading his mind, "she sits back under the pear tree."

"Nay, I...we just returned from the hunt, and I am dirty and wet." He turned to go, realizing how filthy and sweaty he must be.

"She sits with Reginald D'Orrais," added Judith casually. "All the court knows that he is to be named her betrothed on the morrow."

Gavin looked at her, but she had turned to wave to another lady-in-waiting who hurried past the garden gate toward the castle. Judith looked back at him. "I must go, for I am promised to the queen now that she has returned from the hunt." She hurried off, leaving him to stare after her with an angry tightening in his belly.

D'Orrais. The man might be plying suit for her hand, but it had not yet been granted to him, and he presumed overmuch. Gavin clenched his fist and wheeled back into the garden, setting his teeth in line so hard his jaw hurt.

He would remind Madelyne that she was not yet betrothed and that sitting in the garden unchaperoned would only lead to damaging rumors about herself. She was not accustomed to court life, and could not realize that such simple actions were often the cause of much destruction.

Gavin fed his anger thus, stalking toward the corner of the garden where the pear tree grew.

He came around the bush into a full view of Madelyne and Reginald D'Orrais. They were in an intimate embrace.