Whispers At Court. Blythe GiffordЧитать онлайн книгу.
to be leading a battle against an enemy of overwhelming force. It would be simpler.
He put a hand on her arm to slow her. As in battle, he must delay the enemy’s arrival to give Enguerrand as much time to advance as possible.
She frowned. ‘We are falling behind.’
Unfortunately, he could not take the forthright approach and physically hold her back. He must be subtle.
And Marc de Marcel was not a subtle man.
‘We cannot simply force them apart,’ he said. ‘We need a plan, just as if we were in a battle.’
She frowned again. ‘The plan is for you to keep your friend away from the Lady Isabella. That is why I brought you here.’
He gritted his teeth, wishing that he was back in London. ‘In order to do that, I must know something about her.’
Still watching the couple mounting the stairs far above them, she sighed, exasperated. ‘She is the king’s oldest and favourite daughter, generous and loving to her friends and family and to the poor. She enjoys all manner of entertainment and gaiety.’
The princess sounded no different from any other noble man or woman he had known. ‘Why is she not yet wed?’ He had not wondered at it before, but now that he did, the question was baffling. He was not a man privy to the plots of kings, but such a woman would be an important chess piece. The right marriage, to the right ruler, could have secured an unbreakable alliance. From what he knew of Edward, he was not a man to let such an advantage go unclaimed.
Cecily slowed her steps and dropped her voice. ‘There were many suggested. I don’t even know them all. And finally, there was a Gascon noble she wanted to marry.’
‘She chose her own husband?’
She nodded.
He looked back up the stairs. Enguerrand and the Lady Isabella were no longer in sight. ‘I did not know she was a widow.’ That could change many things. A woman who had already known a man’s touch...
‘She isn’t. The king consented and all the arrangements were made, but when she went to board the ships, she...could not.’
‘She refused?’ He could not comprehend such a thing. The court of le roi Anglais was truly a strange place. ‘The king allowed that?’
‘The man had been her choice. So her father allowed her to change her mind.’ A rueful smile touched her lips. ‘The Lady Isabella is accustomed to getting her way in all things. No one tells her no.’
‘Not even the king?’ He knew little of women, but in his experience, they did as they were told. Perhaps les femmes Anglaise were different.
She shook her head. ‘She has a loving father and mother. They have given her everything she needed. Or wanted.’ Her words were wistful.
‘So she has everything she desires.’
Cecily shrugged.
‘And you, Countess? Did your parents give you everything you desired?’
She nodded, her smile quick but sad. ‘Until they died.’
He should not have reminded her of her loss, yet he felt a moment’s regret. He had lost his family years ago. Had he loved them? He could not remember.
‘Yet you have not wed either.’ Suddenly, he wanted to know why.
‘Only because the king has not yet selected my husband. I expect the man to be named by the end of the Christmas season.’
I hold the title, she had said, the first night they met. She, and her title, would be a prize for some nobleman. One far above a humble chevalier. He wondered, with a thought he refused to call jealousy, who the man would be.
‘So now,’ Lady Cecily said, in a tone that he now thought of as her ‘countess voice’, ‘I’ve told you about Lady Isabella. What is your plan?’
He must convince this woman he was doing something. ‘She sounds wilful and capricious.’ And thus, perhaps more dangerous than de Coucy had suspected. ‘Perhaps knowing that will cool his ardour.’
‘You shall not disparage her! Would you have me tell the princess vile tales about Lord de Coucy?’
‘You would find none. He is admired even by his enemies.’
‘The Lady Isabella has no enemies!’ As if there were nothing more to say. ‘She is the daughter of the king.’
‘If you will not let me speak ill of her, how am I to dampen his ardour?’
They had reached the top of the stairs and, ahead, saw Enguerrand enter a room. The princess followed.
Cecily gripped his sleeve. ‘We must do something.’ She looked towards the open door, then bit her lip. Suddenly, she smiled. ‘I know! While you are here, you will entertain the princess.’
‘What?’
‘That way, she will find it difficult to spend too much time with Lord de Coucy.’
Already, the plan had gone awry. ‘The princess may be content to while away her hours with one of the mightiest lords in France. She will not feel the same way about a landless chevalier.’
‘Ah, but that is the way it is practised in the French courts of love! The landless knight inspired by the high-born lady. That is what Isabella told me.’
Landless knight. Did she know how true that was? ‘And you? Will you then distract Lord de Coucy?’
‘Of course not.’ Her voice dripped with disdain. ‘I am to be betrothed soon. I cannot be seen too much in the company of a French hostage.’
The Lady Isabella emerged from the room, looked over her shoulder with a smile and waved to de Coucy unseen, still inside.
Marc raised his eyebrows and looked back at Lady Cecily. ‘You blame de Coucy for this folly,’ he whispered, as the princess approached. From what he knew of women, this one seemed as eager as his friend. Or more. ‘I think Lady Isabella shares the fault.’
‘How can you say such a thing?’ She gestured towards the room and then raised her voice so that the princess would hear. ‘You will share quarters with Lord de Coucy.’
Then, putting on her countess posture, she joined the princess, who smiled in his general direction, though he could not be sure she actually saw him. The Lady Isabella, he was certain, had already chosen her courtly lover for the season.
Now, he faced three weeks of Yuletide celebrations pretending to interfere with Enguerrand’s plans in order to support them. He sighed.
This Noël would be anything but joyeux.
With the hostages settled, Cecily left the tower to give her deference to Queen Philippa.
Isabella had said renovations were complete, but as Cecily entered the new wing in the upper ward, glassmakers, painters and carpenters still littered the corridors.
‘I thought the work was done,’ she said, rising from her curtsy. Yet it obviously continued. The sculptor would still be needed and she could not possibly ask for him to be released.
Despite her promise to Gilbert, she felt a sense of relief.
The queen dismissed the workmen still painting the walls of her receiving chamber. ‘Their work on the outer walls and the Hall is complete. My quarters are near finished, as are the king’s, but your guest quarters are still wanting, I’m afraid. Edward plans two more wings...’ She waved her hand in the direction of the outer walls. ‘But until those are built our guests are still crowded, I’m afraid.’
Cecily swallowed a grimace. They