“Indeed…but not this choice gossip. The queen meant to go into her confinement at Woodstock, but at the last moment traveled on to Beaumont Place. Word is she did not wish to be in the same residence as Mistress Rosamund Clifford.”
Mal grumbled impatiently, “Judith, if you do not come to the point very soon, I shall strap on my sword and go back to my men. Even Rike is making progress today, and I—”
“Rosamund Clifford is the king’s new leman. Maris claims he is quite besotted with her, and the queen is beyond livid. The gossips say his obsession with Rosamund is beyond anything they have witnessed, and that even Eleanor has naught to say about it. The woman is taking precedence even over his wife.”
During her speech, Malcolm’s expression eased into one of interest and satisfaction. “And so Lady Maris believes any ill will the queen might still harbor toward you—or me—is now turned upon Mistress Clifford? I do hope the woman does not have a husband,” he added ruefully.
“Nay, she does not. And aside from that, Eleanor is leaving for Aquitaine now that she has delivered herself of Prince John. Betwixt the unrest there, the tension between Canterbury and the king, not to mention the fair Rosamund, the queen has other matters on her mind. Both Maris and Dirick believe the viper has been confined to her nest and will not come out for a long while—if ever.”
“And so we can draw in a breath of relief ourselves, is that the news?” he said, now eyeing her speculatively. “I cannot imagine a more happy announcement.”“Indeed. I am so relieved…I believe I could be reduced to tears,” Judith said, spinning away from him as she tossed a hot, meaningful look over her shoulder.
“Is that so? Well, never shall it be said I cannot bring my wife to weep if I desire it,” Mal said, lunging toward her.
She allowed him to catch her this time, fairly climbing into his arms to smack a joyful kiss on his lips. “You are safe, my love. And though I hurt for the queen—for no one should be subject to such pain and disrespect—I cannot be sad that her attention is directed elsewhere. The woman might have all the wealth and power in Christendom, but she is ill-used and—”
“Aye,” he said, but his tone was distracted and he already had his hands full of her bountiful breasts. “Now if you will cease speaking about the woman who tried to murder me, I shall see about directing your attention elsewhere.”
“But what about your training?” she teased. “The men will be waiting your return.”
“They can wait. I still have not forgiven Nevril for causing such upheaval with my wife,” he said.
And then she could no longer respond, for he covered her lips with his and they collapsed onto the massive, pillow-covered, becurtained bed he now called his own.