Princess Of France (The Queen's Pawn Book 2) Page 3

  I cast my gaze down to my arm where his hand lay, but he did not let me go. No one had ever touched me without my permission. No one but the king. “Release me.” My voice was calm and betrayed none of the desire I felt.

  But Jean Pierre seemed to know the desire buried deep within me, as Henry once had. His eyes never left my face. Once again, I was struck by the thought that he knew me, as no other man ever had, save one.

  “My lady, there is unfinished business between us.”

  I kept my voice even, my tone severe. “That is so, my lord. You will bear me to my brother the king in one day’s time. You will lead me to his court and leave me in his care. That will conclude the business we have between us.”

  Jean Pierre heard the lies I spoke, but he ignored them. He stepped so close that I could smell the scent of sandalwood on his skin.

  Henry had worn that scent, but it was forever changed for me after that day. When I took in the sandalwood on Jean Pierre’s skin, it made me feel like a wanton woman, as if to be wanton was a blessed thing. The scent made my limbs heavy, and my joints liquid. That scent made me think of a dark bed with silk hangings, where we might lose ourselves.

  I tried to draw back from him even as the fire in me rose to meet his. But he would not let me go.

  “My lady, I would bear you other places than to your brother.”

  Jean Pierre drew me away from the door, back into the shadows of the church, where the sun had not yet come. He pressed me against a wall, and I let him. “I know you, my lady. I know that you would go with me.”

  “I will not,” I said, though my breath came short. I knew that if I tried to pull away again, he would let me go. Something in the way he stood told me that, as he looked down at me, his blue eyes filling the world.

  It was I who took the last step toward him. I raised my lips to his, though it had been almost twenty years since a man had kissed me.

  I found that a kiss does not leave you once you have learned the way of it. The method of it lingered and came to me again as I stood in that church and let him taste me. His lips were soft and cool, but soon warmed over mine.

  I tasted his tongue, the bread he had eaten at breakfast, the wine he had taken in the mass. I knew then that he had knelt behind me. He had watched me all that while and had stayed with me even as I prayed.

  The thought that his eyes had been on me during the mass as his hands were on me now made my desire for him crest and threaten to overwhelm me. I pressed myself against him, and his arms tightened around me, the last of his hesitation vanishing like so much smoke.

  For all his bold words, Jean Pierre had waited for a sign from me. Now that I had given my permission, the last of his reserve was swept away.

  He pressed me against the stone of the church wall. I could feel the uneven places digging into my back, though to the eye, the stone looked smooth under its coats of whitewash. His thighs pressed against my own as his hands slid up my arms, down my neck, and over my breasts.

  It was his touch on my breasts that was my undoing. I remembered myself, who I was, and where. I fought him as a cat might fight a dog.

  Jean Pierre let me go. I stumbled as I moved away from him into the watery sunlight coming in the stained-glass windows. We stood together in that church and stared at each other, both of us panting for breath, both of us at a loss for words. It had been so long since I had been touched, but it seemed my body and my soul both remembered the way of it.

  The desire in his eyes was as strong as a siren’s song and I almost went back to him, whatever the sin. But my mind was beginning to come unclouded, and I thought of my brother.

  King Phillipe Auguste meant another alliance for me or he would never have sent this man to fetch me. I had to keep what was left of my honor for that unknown man, whoever he was. As always, I belonged not to myself but to the kingdom of France.

  “We will not touch each other again,” I said.

  “We are not finished with each other.”

  I felt my lust cooling, the fire in my belly beginning to go out. I could not control what I felt for him. But I could control my actions. I was bound to my honor, what little was left of it. I was a woman now, no green, defenseless girl. I would choose for myself.

  “There is much that will remain unfinished. I am for France, to do my brother’s bidding. You are for the holy war in the Levant, to win glory for God. What we feel must stay here and end now.”

  “What I feel for you will never end.”

  Jean Pierre met my eyes, and I saw that he thought he was telling the truth. I did not doubt his intention, only the strength of it. For I knew enough of men to know that while their pretty words were sincere when they spoke them, those words faded as cut flowers fade after a day when they are set upon a table.

  He had been half in love with me before he came to fetch me. I feared that he had written the tale of some phantom woman on the vellum of his mind, and now called her by my name.

  Even as I denied him, I wanted to offer comfort, to show him that, if I had been free to choose for myself, he would have been my choice. I touched his hand once. Jean Pierre did not clutch at me, or pull me to him, as a lesser man might have done.

  Instead, he took my hand in his and kissed it, as if my palm were made of old parchment that might split under the lightest touch. I was sure in that moment that Jean Pierre loved me in truth, for after he kissed my hand, he bowed to me and let me go.

  3

  The Journey

  “It is good that you are leaving, my lady.”

  Mother Bernard spoke gravely after she had heard my confession of all that had passed between myself and Jean Pierre. “Perhaps you should call for another man to lead you home.”

  I smiled, for she spoke as if I were some girl coming home from a fair after being gone for only one day.

  I kissed her, despite the years of hard training in my father’s court, and in Eleanor’s. Love’s expression flowed from me ever since my daughter had been born and died. Rose had given me much in that one day, and easy affection with those I loved was one of those gifts.

  My brother would send no other man to fetch me. And I had no desire to delay.

  Even then, my litter waited outside in the sunshine. Already, I could hear the horses gathering and the men at arms. My things were packed, paltry though they were, and loaded on a mule. My brother would have to give me new dresses when I came to him. For now, I wore the dark dyed linen of the nunnery.

  Mother Bernard must have seen the resolution in my eyes, and she kissed me once, clutching me hard, for I had been in her keeping for many years. In the end, she remembered herself and let me go. I stepped onto the stones of the courtyard and saw that the women had gathered to see me off, as they had done for me once before, long ago.

  A little girl offered me a clutch of flowers from the garden. I brought them to my cheek, feeling the softness of their petals, taking in their gentle scent. Among them she had set a sprig of the lavender I had planted. I pressed them to my heart and kissed her, too.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I could not remember her name, for she was new to the abbey. I had kept apart from the novices, except at prayers. She knew who I was, though, for she curtsied as she smiled at me.

  Jean Pierre was at my elbow then, handing me into my litter. His hand was warm on my arm, and I felt no lust from him. He felt my hesitation, and he waited, for it seemed he was a patient man as well as a kind one.

  With one last look at the haven of my childhood, at the only haven I had known in all my life, I climbed into my litter and did not look back.

  I raised my hand once to Mother Bernard. She smiled at me, though her face was wet with tears. The other women waved to me as if I were only going away for a holiday, as if I might someday return.

  But my path was drawing me away from that moment onward. I had felt the tide of Fate before, when it had taken my daughter from me, when it had taken me from Henry forever. I knew that I would not be
coming back to that place.

  We were away from the convent within a matter of minutes, and it vanished behind me as if it had never been. I left the curtains of my litter open and gazed out at the countryside that I had not seen in almost twenty years.

  Spring had come down like the sweet breath of the Virgin in Heaven, and the grass was touched with green where it grew by the river. The trees above our pathway swayed over our heads. I met Jean Pierre’s eyes once through the open curtains when he leaned down from his mount to check on me, and I found myself wishing that our journey might be a long one.

  My time in the abbey fell away from me as a dream does with the light of morning. Though in many ways I had lived a religious life, I had never taken vows and I was born for another fate. I knew well that my brother would find other, better political uses for me now that Richard had set me free.

  As the abbey was left behind me, down the road that had no turning, I took in the sights of spring as if seeing them with new eyes. I was filled with joy at the thought of being among people again, of living in the world, all the good and ill that would come with it.

  I was not afraid as I went to meet my future. I was simply grateful that I had one. At thirty-five, I was no doubt too old to bear children by now and would do my new husband, whoever he was, little good.

  But the thought of wearing fine silk again, of having a lady to tend my bath and fireside, of dancing late into the night with men younger than myself, all came to me as ambassadors from my new life. I had been such a green girl when I was at Henry’s court and so beset by pain, that I had had little time to enjoy myself. I vowed that this time my life would be different.

  God seemed to hear my thoughts and sent me a messenger long before I reached Dover, where I was to take ship for Calais.

  We meant to stop for the night at a monastery on the road from Bath, but before we reached that place, we were stopped by a great army of men on horseback.

  They held lances and pikes, raised in a defensive position, but I knew how quickly they might be lowered to attack. At first, I thought them robbers and moved to draw my curtains closed, but I soon saw the banner of the Plantagenets waving above their horses’ heads. It was Prince John’s standard.

  I laughed under my breath, wondering what mischief Eleanor’s youngest son hoped to make by stopping me on my way to my brother. I did not laugh long, but rose from my litter without help, stepping between Jean Pierre and the man who faced him.

  “Greetings,” I said as if Jean Pierre was not there. “Your lord does my brother much honor. But as you can see, I am already well guarded for my journey to Paris. Please give the Lord John my thanks for his kind regard.”

  The gentleman smiled down on me, grateful that I had intervened, for Jean Pierre had lowered the visor of his helmet and had challenged John’s man to a duel to defend my long dead honor.

  I had not heard the words spoken between them, but I saw the anger in Jean Pierre’s eyes when he raised his visor once more and glared at me. I ignored him and kept my gaze only on John’s man. No one would lose his life that night if I could stop it.

  “Your Highness, greetings from Lord John, Prince of England. He sends you his regards and asks that you sup with him this night, along the river Avon. He has a pavilion set there for you, and all is in readiness.”

  Jean Pierre said nothing, but I could feel the heat of his gaze on the top of my head. I did not look at him but cast my eyes quickly over the men who surrounded us. I had a retinue of a dozen men, but John had sent sixty. I knew that my brother’s men would have to fight to get away. I also knew that they would lose.

  “I thank you. I will accept your lord’s hospitality. My men and I will follow, if you will lead the way.”

  I thought in that moment Jean Pierre would vault down from his horse and throttle me. I met his eyes coolly and let him see the position I was in. I was only a woman under his protection. But I was also a princess of France.

  In the end, he deferred to me, whether out of respect for me, or out of the desire to keep his men alive, I never knew. But I climbed back into my litter, careful to keep the curtains open so that all my men and John’s men could see me. I sat straight and wished I wore a decent gown.

  But I remembered the words of my father from my childhood. He told me that royalty came not from outer trappings, not from gold or jewels or silk, but from the mark of God, which shown from within. I had been chosen by God to serve France from my birth, and I would do it even here, even now, in this foreign place, among the soldiers of my enemy.

  I had expected a military camp with a campaign tent pitched by a muddy riverbank, troops of men lined up beside it to show Prince John’s might. I saw none of this as we rode into his camp. Instead, torches burned, making the twilight as bright as day, and as I stepped from my litter, fire-eaters and jugglers danced among us, shooting flames and scaring the horses.

  I covered my mouth to hide my smile, and I met Jean Pierre’s eyes as he swung down from his horse. I saw him forgive me in that moment when he saw the foolishness of John’s servants. Surely a man who would send jugglers and mountebanks among warhorses was no threat to my person.

  He was still angry at John’s arrogance; I could feel his anger in his touch as he led me from my litter. He placed his body between myself and John’s men, as if they meant to menace me. I knew that could not be John’s aim, but I was touched at his single-minded devotion. His love for me was not just pretty words. Jean Pierre would truly have laid down his life for mine without thought or misgiving. I pressed his hand gently as he let me go.

  Jean Pierre felt something more than courtesy in my touch, for he looked down at me, his eyes meeting mine. I saw a little more of his anger slide away as I stood in the door of the tent that John had prepared for me.

  “I will watch the door,” Jean Pierre said. “I will keep you safe.”

  I could not kiss him there, in front of all John’s and my brother’s men, though I wanted to. Instead I simply let my gaze linger on his face, hoping that he understood me. As I watched, his skin flushed red under his tan. I turned with a smile and stepped into the tent raised in my honor.

  Inside, I was surprised that John was not there, waiting for me. Only women stood by, with heated water and a hip bath. Bathing sheets lay on a camp table, heaped high, and perfumes of every kind and clarity lay spread for my inspection, ready to be taken up when I called for them.

  I turned myself over to the ministrations of those women, expecting country clumsiness at best and ham-fisted incompetence at worst. I was greeted with neither. Each woman moved, as good servants do, in the silence of a dance, taking my travel-stained gown from me, helping me carefully into the bath. Those women washed my skin and hair deftly and sprinkled both my hair and body with the perfume I selected as they dried me off. I had not been served so well even at Henry’s court. I saw that these women had been trained not in France, but some land beyond, where silent service was not a courtesy, but offered as a lady’s due.

  They dressed me not in my own clothes but in a gown of the softest silk dyed pink to match the roses that sat on the table in my tent. I saw a bed beyond a screen, piled high with pillows and surrounded by braziers for warmth. I wondered if John thought to seduce me by the roadside. Though I had been the lover of a king, I was no milkmaid to be tilted in a field.

  I set this thought aside and schooled my face to blankness. I would see John among his own people and take what came. I was a woman now, no longer a child and a pawn. I would make my own decision, whatever choice offered me.

  Jean Pierre was as good as his word. He did not wash or change his clothes, but stood by the flap of my tent, guarding my life and my virtue. I touched his arm once in silent thanks before I followed John’s man to a larger tent set down by the river’s edge.

  The flap of this tent was open wide to the night air. I breathed in the scent of the river, taken back once more to my time with Henry.

  But no irises or daisies greet
ed me in John’s tent. Instead, the table was covered in roses of every hue, roses in red and pink, yellow and white. I stood and stared, remembering how much I loved those flowers, and how little I had seen of them since leaving his father’s court.

  Prince John stood behind the great table, which had been set for two. He bowed to me, coming down from his throne to take my hand in his. Jean Pierre tensed behind me, but I stepped forward and met John as he approached.

  John’s face was narrow, as neither Eleanor’s nor Henry’s had been. His eyes were slanted like Eleanor’s though, and a bit of her emerald green tinted their hazel hue. He smiled at me, and I saw a little of her in him. It was that small piece of Eleanor I spoke to, as I gazed into her youngest son’s face.

  “Your Highness,” I said, dropping a decent curtsey. “You do me too much honor.”

  “That is not possible, Princess.”

  Prince John took my hand and led me to the other side of the table, seating me himself before taking his place beside me. I saw Jean Pierre’s face flush with fury at the sight of only two chairs. Clearly, John expected my brother’s ambassador to stand about like a footman, rather than treating him as the landed gentlemen he was.

  I met Jean Pierre’s eyes and begged him to say nothing. He must have seen my plea. He stayed silent.

  John’s footmen brought forth the wine and the meat to be laid in the trenchers. I saw then that there was only one trencher, and that we were meant to share it.

  Jean Pierre raised his gaze to a point above my head. He stood at military attention beside the door of the tent and kept his eye on every man that entered, and every serving woman. He was the only military man in the room, which set my mind at ease. As much as John seemed to be provoking him, I knew that I could keep them apart.

  We sampled the first course without speaking. The meat was a fine venison stewed in mushrooms. I ate with relish, for I had had no such meat in the convent. I found myself pleased with John and his trappings, more than I had ever thought to be, despite there being no seat left for Jean Pierre.