The King's Mistress by Terri Brisbin Page B

others could try. The next two on the field looked as though they had already been at the receiving end of a lesson, for they both wore blackened and bruised eyes and several gashes on their faces.
    â€œAre you certain you wish to know them, Orrick? And will she learn yours?”
    â€œMy secrets? I have no secrets, Gavin.”
    He paused and waited. They watched these two stumble across the yard and avoid hitting each othermore than they attempted to hit. Something was wrong here.
    â€œThe widow Ardys? Although you are discreet and even your mother knows not of her, some do. What will your new wife think of the mistress you keep?”
    Gavin’s words startled him, for Ardys was not his mistress—he considered her a friend and a companion. They were even bedmates at times. But he did not keep a mistress. Before he could argue to point, Gavin was over the fence and running toward the two men. Orrick followed to discover what was going on.
    The men, seeing Gavin’s approach, ran to Orrick and dropped to their knees. Gavin called out for them to be gone, but they did not move.
    â€œWhat goes on here? How did you get those welts?” Orrick pointed to their faces, but they looked at Gavin. “How?” Orrick demanded.
    â€œI did it, my lord,” Gavin answered.
    Confused, Orrick looked to Gavin for an explanation. The men paled even more.
    â€œWhy?” Orrick put his fists on his hips and waited. Something serious must have happened for Gavin to beat these men. “When?”
    A crowd began to gather and Gavin looked worried. “My lord, let us continue this inside.”
    â€œGavin… I trust you to oversee my men when I am not here. Explain it to me now,” Orrick ground out harshly. The bile in his stomach threatened to overflow, for if Gavin raised his hands against Orrick’s own men, it was a serious matter.
    â€œThey insulted the Lady Marguerite the day you left for the abbey.”
    â€œWhat did they say?”
    Orrick stood motionless waiting to hear. The blood pounded in his head. He could only imagine what rumors and tales were going around his village. If anyone had heard his mother’s pronouncement the day of his betrothal, they knew the truth about Marguerite.
    â€œMy lord!” the man Thurlow called out. “We meant nothing by it. We was just talking. We meant no insult.” He reached out for Orrick’s tunic, pleading, “Please, my lord.”
    Orrick looked at Gavin and realized in that moment that whatever they’d said, it had been heard by Marguerite and anyone else in the yard at the time. And that their words had startled her into giving away her secret to Gavin, who must have observed her reaction and known she understood the insult.
    â€œShe heard them?” Gavin nodded. “She understood?” Again his friend confirmed his fear. “Summon François and tell him to bring two whips,” he called out to one of the soldiers in the yard. “Tie them to the fence now,” he ordered.
    His anger increased as he waited for his orders to be carried out. Soon, the yard was surrounded by villagers who had already heard of the ruckus. Good, they should all know what would befall them if they spoke against Lady Marguerite.
    In spite of her past, in spite of her current denial of its permanence, she was his wife and their lady. An insult to her was an insult to him. As much ashe worked to rule his people without cruelty or abuse, there were times when physical punishment must be used, and it was his role as lord to mete it out. And he hated it each time. He would not shirk from it, though.
    When all was in place, he gave one of the whips to Gavin and one to François, the captain of the keep’s guards. Calling out in a loud voice, he informed them of the punishment he’d decided on.
    â€œFifteen lashes each for the insults given to the Lady Marguerite. Give the first ten now,” he ordered.
    Although