Princess Of France (The Queen's Pawn Book 2) Read online

  Marie Helene kissed me before I went, handing my daughter to me so that I might see her face. Marie was sleeping, but she woke when I touched her. She did not cry, though I was unfamiliar to her now that she no longer rode within me. She blinked and looked up at me, as if seeing me for the first time. I smiled down on her and kissed her forehead.

  She seemed to take this gesture for the blessing it was, for she smiled at me for the first time. That small smile touched my heart, and I felt tears rise in my eyes. I smoothed her hair where it feathered along her forehead. She would not have my curls it seemed, but her father’s straight brown locks.

  “She will be here when you return, my lady.”

  Marie Helene’s voice was soft in my ear. I met my friend’s gaze, tearing my eyes from my daughter’s face. “She is beautiful, Marie Helene. How is it that I have not seen that before, but only now, when I am going away?”

  Marie Helene handed the baby to the wet nurse who was standing by. She took me in her arms then, and held me close to her heart, so that I could hear it beating. “It is because you lost your first child, lady, and still feel the sorrow of it. But perhaps it will be easier now.”

  I kissed her cheek but did not speak. She released me, and I turned to my horse.

  She was wrong. The loss of Rose was never made easy, not by Marie or any of my living children to come. But after that day I could look upon my second daughter and see her for what she was, a unique miracle wrought by God, just as Rose had been.

  I was thinking these things, fighting off my misery and the despair that threatened as I turned to go on my errand of mercy, when my husband caught my arm.

  Looking up at him, my eyes wide, I must have seemed frightened, for he drew me close and kissed me in front of the whole company. “My lady wife, Godspeed and His blessings on your journey.”

  I blinked, surprised into a smile, for I knew well that my husband had little truck with God, or His blessings. William lifted me onto my horse and winked at me, his back turned so that others could not see.

  I rode out of my husband’s keep, his standard flying above me, six of his men-at-arms flanking me as if I were a queen indeed. I rode in state all the way to the river, my back straight, my gloved hands firm on my horse’s reigns.

  I had learned to ride a little more since coming into my husband’s country. I had decided that it did not suit a princess of France to seem too timid, no matter what her age. I was grateful now that I had taken the time to learn, for the road back to Rouen was longer than I remembered. I had crossed that country only once before, after my wedding day.

  It was half a day’s journey to Rouen, and we stopped in the same monastery where my husband and I had spent our wedding night. I was housed in the same room, though that night I slept little. I stared into the fire, trying not to think of the tradition of the cold marriage bed that we had started in that room.

  Instead, I prayed for Richard, that he might be delivered from his enemies, even though those enemies were my kin.

  When I rode into my brother’s palace keep, the men-at-arms saluted me but asked no questions. I saw immediately that my husband had sent a rider to tell my brother of my coming.

  Phillipe did not emerge from the darkness of his castle to greet me himself, but his steward was quick to welcome me, bowing deeply, as people no longer did at my husband’s house.

  I was taken to the same room where I had slept before, and given wash water and women to serve me, since I had brought none of my own. I could see that the court servants were scandalized that a princess of France would travel by horse instead of by litter, without her husband to attend her.

  They laughed behind their hands that I had not brought my own women to serve me, along with deep trunks of gowns. Of course, they did not know why I was there. No one knew but my brother. My husband had not told him in his letter, but I had no doubt that the reason my brother kept his throne, and kept peace in his own lands, was because he was rarely caught unawares. Phillipe was still young, but he saw far.

  I waited in my rooms but received no summons for an audience. I thought at first that I might go down to dinner in the great hall, but no woman came to lead me there, and as I looked at my rumpled gown, I knew that I could not face my brother’s court that night.

  Instead, I dressed in a decent gown of black and wrapped my father’s rosary around my waist, where the diamonds, pearls and amethysts caught the light from the candles. I knew that I could find the chapel, for I had a rare sixth sense about such things. I could find nothing else in strange places but was always was able to find my way to God.

  I went out without a lady to escort me, since only serving women had come to me since my arrival. My reputation and honor were long since spent, so I thought nothing of it as I strolled alone down the wide, torch-lit corridor of my brother’s castle.

  I thought of my father as I walked, and I felt his presence with me, guiding me, telling me where to turn, and what stairs to take. This fancy served me, for I came to a small chapel, half hidden beyond the rooms where the court lived and played.

  I stood in the doorway of that chapel and saw that it was well tended, though no one was there now but an old priest sitting in the Presence. He stood and bowed to me but knelt again almost immediately. I could see that mass was never sung there anymore, for my brother had greater places to hear mass, large cathedrals where all might see him. This was a private place, a silent place, where a man could come before God with none to know it but him.

  I remembered suddenly that my father had brought me there once when I was a child. He had brought me to that chapel to take mass when he was between queens. With no wife to chide him and to keep him from me, we had knelt together on our cushions before the altar, and heard mass sung for us alone.

  I genuflected before the Host and came to kneel behind the priest. He did not turn to look at me again, but left me to my prayers, as I left him to his.

  Though it had been many years since I had knelt without a cushion, I still remembered Mother Bernard’s trick of folding my gown beneath my knees. I knelt a long time, going over the litany of my dead, saying prayers to the Holy Mother and to God, that their souls might be safe in heaven.

  When I was done, I stood, my knees creaking from being on the hard ground. The priest still knelt before me, as if I had never come in. I stood a while longer in the Presence of God, until the priest rose, crossing himself, and stepped back behind a screen without a word or a glance at me.

  I heard a footstep behind me, and I turned, thinking one of my brother’s women had found me. It was not a servant, but the Count of Valois who stood behind me.

  “Your Highness.”

  He did not bow, but stood and looked at me, as if I were a river of clear water, and he had walked out of the desert, longing for a drink.

  “My lord of Valois.” I remembered myself enough to drop a small curtsy. I lowered my gaze, wondering why he was there. Once again, he had appeared from nowhere like magic in a fairy story.

  “I heard that you had come to court, but I did not see you in the hall.”

  “No,” I said. “I am at court only to see my brother.”

  We stared at each other as if we had never been parted. I had taken a lover and borne another man’s child, but now that Jean Pierre stood before me, I felt as if nothing had changed between us. He was the same as when I had last seen him by the river on my husband’s land, with the sunlight in his hair.

  The need to weep rose in me from the ground at my feet. Tears I had been trained never to shed in front of strangers, in front of anyone, came into my eyes. I turned from him, searching for the handkerchief I always carried, the one that bore Eleanor’s seal. But then I remembered that I had given it to him. I did not carry one of my own anymore, as I had no more need to weep.

  He was at my side in a moment, his hand on my arm, with no thought for the fact that I was a married woman or a princess of France.

  I had a fanciful notion that he might
kiss me, as I looked into the clear blue of his eyes. They reminded me of my husband’s eyes at first, those eyes of agate that looked only on my brother with love, and on myself with respect and kindness.

  But in that moment, I saw that this man was nothing like my husband. When he looked into my eyes, he wanted all of me. He raised his hand to my cheek and brushed my tears away with his fingertips. His touch was gentle, the soft touch of a moth. His hands were callused, and the hard pads of his fingers made me weak. I leaned into him. It had been months since a man had touched me, and I hungered for it.

  I was sure that he would kiss me, but Jean Pierre had a mind for where we stood even if I did not. He took a step back and I swayed as if to follow him. He caught my arm and held me back.

  I saw then that the priest had come out to tend the candles at the altar and had stopped in his business to stare at us, to see what new mischief the king’s wanton sister would make, even here, in the house of God.

  The count took my arm and led me away, as if it were his right. I knew that word of our connection would be spread throughout the court by sunrise. I prayed that it would not make my brother turn from me before I had begged his mercy.

  Phillipe was unlikely to grant mercy in any case; a king was rarely free to be merciful. But for all the darkness that had passed between Richard and me, and for all the good that had not grown between us and never would, I would still speak for him, even at the gates of hell, if my voice could do him any good.

  Jean Pierre knew where my room was and took me there, for servants were easily bribed in my brother’s house. He opened the door for me. I stopped just inside and held up one hand.

  “You can come no further.”

  He did not protest. He looked down on me, his feathered hat jaunty on his head, his eyes dark where the shadow of the hallway covered them, hiding his thoughts. But then he leaned forward and the light from the candles in my room fell on his face. I saw that he still loved me, even after all this time, even though his love for me had brought him nothing, barely even the touch of my hand.

  He smiled then, and I saw that he liked me as well. This was welcome knowledge. For in my father’s house, which had now become my brother’s, I was surrounded by enemies. Most courtiers thought nothing but ill of me and were amused by the dark turns my life had taken.

  In that place, which held only memories of all that was gone from me forever, Jean Pierre stood with me. I knew in that moment that he would stand by me for the rest of his life, whoever’s wife I was, even if it brought him the displeasure of the king. I saw in his face that he valued me for myself. He was the only one in my life to value me so, except Marie Helene. And perhaps Richard in the first moment we met, so many years ago.

  “Good night, Your Highness. I will bring you to the king on the morrow. Do you have anyone to sleep outside your door?”

  I smiled at this. As if he thought my brother’s house a den of thieves, from which I needed guarding.

  “I have no guard, but I do not need one. This door has a sturdy lock.”

  “Have you any women to attend you?”

  “I did not bring one, for I wished to travel light. The palace women have lit my fire and brought water and wine. I will do well enough until morning.”

  This did not satisfy him, but he did not have the right to say anything more. He kissed me once, hard on my closed lips, then stepped back, as if he did not trust himself to touch me further.

  “Close the door and lock it, Highness. I return in the morning, to see that you are safe and well.”

  “Good night, Jean Pierre.”

  At the sound of his name on my lips, a smile lit his face. The year and more that we had been apart had been hard on him, harder than I would ever know, and for reasons that he would never let me see. Some men are born for war, and some men join in battle against their better judgment. Jean Pierre was one of the men that carried the scars of battle not on his body, but on his soul.

  He bowed but did not move away. I closed the door and locked it. I waited a long time, but I did not hear his footsteps when he left. The door was thick and might have muffled the sound. Or he stayed by me and guarded my door until the sun began to rise, and the servants began to stir. I slept well that night, feeling more protected and cared for than I had since I was a child, before my father had sent me away.

  14

  The Meeting

  I did not see Jean Pierre the next morning. When my brother’s women brought in my wash water and my breakfast of fruit and cheese, he was not lurking in the hallway.

  The pastry in my brother’s house was as light as I remembered it from childhood, and it seemed to melt on my tongue. When I returned to Ponthieu, I resolved to ask William if we might find a Parisian chef retire to the country and cook for us.

  This thought only lingered as long as the pastry did. I turned my mind to the king as the palace women helped me dress. I wore a veil, though I could not bring myself to wear a wimple. The women’s eyes spoke of my lack of virtue, even as they cast them down.

  I had long since grown used to the censure of others, so that now I hardly noticed it. I thought only of how my brother might see me as I came to plead for Richard’s life. If my brother’s allies did not poison Richard one night, being mewed up indoors would kill him.

  I knelt in prayer before I went to my brother. I asked God to guide me and for the Holy Mother to give me eloquence. I remembered the time I had pled for my own freedom before my wedding, and how I had failed. I pushed this thought from me to leave my mind clear, that I might seek God unencumbered.

  I was at peace when I stood again and found one of my brother’s footmen waiting for me in the doorway. He said nothing but crossed himself when I did. I took this for a good omen and smiled at him. He returned my smile shyly before leading me away.

  I was taken not to the great hall, for my brother would not be there so early in the morning. Nor was I brought to the throne room at the top of the curving stairs. I was taken instead to my brother’s private rooms where my father and I had often knelt in prayer when I was a child.

  I stood in the gloom as my brother dismissed his manservant. Phillipe straightened the sleeves of his gown, drawing them down to cover his wrists. The door closed, sealing us away, but as always with a king, I knew that others were no doubt listening and waited for his attention just behind the door.

  I was grateful to my brother for seeing me alone, so as not to humiliate me. For I could see in the first moment that he would refuse my request. If he had meant to grant it, he would have seen me formally, in public, so that his largesse would have witnesses.

  As it was, he sat at his own table, wine and cheese laid out. He offered a chair to me and went so far as to have his man draw it out before he sent him away.

  I sat with my brother and watched as he ate. He had yet to speak a word but only waved in greeting before turning to his breakfast. Some wine had been poured for me, but it was a heavy red, and I did not touch it.

  “Brother, I have come to ask a boon of you.”

  Phillipe smiled at me. I had caught him on a good day, for he seemed delighted by my lack of hesitation and my lack of fear. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the moment between us, and his power over me. He knew that to ask him for anything cost me more than I would ever say.

  “Indeed, sister. And a boon that brings you here yourself, unescorted, not three months after you have delivered your husband’s heir.”

  I heard his amusement at my disgrace, and irritation that I had defied him by giving birth to the next Countess of Ponthieu. But I knew he bore me no ill will for this, for not only had he stood as Marie’s godfather, he had sent the princely gift of a gold cradle that no one in their right mind would ever set a child in.

  So, nothing more was said of my daughter. He simply watched me and waited, knowing already what I would ask.

  “Let Richard go,” I said.

  Phillipe laughed out loud then, his warm voice echoing off the
wood paneling of the chamber. The tapestries were down for cleaning, and his voice carried well, for he had been trained to give orders on the battlefield.

  “Sister, I do not have your errant lover up my sleeve. He is not a prisoner of France. Indeed, he is my brother king. He is being held at the pleasure of the Holy Roman Emperor. Surely even in the wilderness you live in, you have heard this much?”

  “Brother, do not insult me. We both know the emperor holds him at your request.”

  “You give me more power than I have, Alais.”

  His eyes hardened and for a moment I thought he would order me from him, that my audience had ended before it had even begun. But he remembered our father and the ties of duty that bound us. He knew that my youth had been given in the service of France, as even his had not. For he was not a woman, bound to obedience, but a man who could act and think for himself.

  Phillipe paused, taking a long, deep sip of wine. When he spoke, his voice was calm, all trace of laughter gone. “Even if it was in my power, I would not free him, Alais.”

  I saw in his eyes a moment of private pain which he did not mean for me to see. I would not have recognized it, had it not reflected some of the pain I felt myself. He, too, loved Richard, though he would never own it. He, too, had once been close to him and had lost him, as I had.

  It was this pain I spoke to and not my brother the king. “Phillipe.” I kept my voice low, my eyes downcast. “Can you not take pity on him, for my sake?”

  The window that had been open to his soul fell shut. It never opened to me again in the same way, though over the years I came to know him a little better. My brother was a hard man. It was this hardness, this strength, which answered me.

  “Let me be certain of what I am hearing. When you first were betrothed, Richard left you to the devices of his mother and the mercy of his hell-spawn father. He did not lift a finger to save you, even when you were his contracted wife. But you have come here, when he is less than nothing to you, when you owe him nothing but contempt, to plead for him with me.” Phillipe did not ask this as a question but stated it as fact.