Thwarted Queen Part 7

"The French are playing a clever game," I remarked as I set my wine down. "By not coming out into the open to fight us fairly, they conserve their forces, while we wear ours out as we chase after them. Could we not employ a similar strategy to the French?"

The young man raised his brows. "You are quite right, my lady," he said. "What a strategist you are. I would not like to command an army that opposed yours."

I was about to reply when Bess said, "I'm thankful our men managed to cross the bridge of boats at Royaumont without breaking their necks. Our Blessed Lady be thanked for that." She dipped her head like a horse, chestnut curls bobbing.

"Men can be so reckless," agreed Margaret, wiping her fingers with a napkin. Her husband, the Earl of Shrewsbury, had been holding Pontoise for the English along with my brother William, Lord Fauconberg, before Richard's army arrived. Now they joined in his campaign against the French.

"We ladies have to be so strong," declared Lisette, stuffing another wafer in her mouth and licking the honey off her fingers. "Gentlemen have no idea how hard it is to wait and wait with no news." She batted her lashes at the young man. "Would you treat your wife like that?"

"I have no wife."

Lisette opened her small, raisin-like eyes wide. Small and plump, twenty-year-old Lisette was like a pigeon that constantly pecked at its feed. "You don't? A fine young man like yourself?"

"It's not so easy for someone with my kind of life."

"What kind of life? I've never met such a well-favored gentleman who hadn't been s.n.a.t.c.hed-"

"Lisette means only that she is used to married couples," interrupted Margaret, flus.h.i.+ng. "In our society, we are married at such a young age." Her voice trailed off.

"Before we know who we are," I said. "Before we even have the capacity to choose-so that we can't."

The young man shot me a sharp look. I twisted my napkin while Isabel picked up her horn-handled knife and peeled an orange.

"Have you heard the story of Black Fulk of Anjou?" she enquired, staring at the young man. She looked around. "Some of us here are descended from him. One day, he discovered his wife in the arms of her lover. Do you know what he did?"

The young man stared at her, unflinching.

"I will tell you," said Isabel, returning his stare. "He made his wife get into her wedding finery. Then he burned her alive in the town square at Angers."

There was silence for several moments, almost as if everyone was holding their breath. Then a sound made everyone turn.

It was Lisette. She slumped, white-faced into her seat.

Margaret got up. "She is not well," she said, frowning at Isabel, who daintily placed a piece of orange into her mouth. "I must take her back to her chamber."

I signaled to the steward, who bowed and put his hand under Lisette's elbow while Margaret stood on her other side. Between them, they propelled the limp figure back to the castle.

"She makes much out of nothing," said Isabel. "She creates these dramas."

"Your story was not pleasant," said Bess. She turned to me. "Is she easily upset?"

I hesitated. It was a delicate matter for Lisette, married to someone like my brother George, who had an unpredictable temper. Eventually I murmured, "She is not happy."

Isabel snorted. "Who is?"

I rose. "I fear I must bid you goodnight," I said to the young man. "Margaret might need my help."

The young man bowed. "Of course," he murmured, gazing at me as he kissed my hand.

I stepped into the shadows to hide my blushes while the others bade farewell to him.

"What a charming young man," declared Bess as we went back to the castle. "So well favored. Do you suppose we'll be seeing him again?"

"You can be sure of that," said Isabel. "He clearly enjoys gleaning information and gossip from wherever he can find it."

I didn't respond.

"I'll see you in the morning," said Bess, curtseying first to me, then to Isabel. She smiled at me as she stifled a yawn and disappeared up the stone staircase.

"You're quiet tonight, Cecylee," said Isabel, giving me a peck on the cheek.

"I am greatly fatigued, madam," I replied, sweeping her a low curtsey.

I spent that night waiting for dawn to break.

Chapter 7.

Lammastide August 1,1441 By Lammastide, the roses had reached their peak and cl.u.s.tered thickly up and over the arbor, providing not only shade but also a wonderful scent that intensified upon the evening.

It was my custom to sit in the arbor, by the bathing pool, with Margaret while we did our needlework. At thirty-seven years, Margaret was the eldest lady of my acquaintance, and during that long, hot summer, she became my dearest friend and confidante. Perhaps this was because Mama had so recently pa.s.sed away.

How I missed Mama. Though we'd not seen much of each other these four years since my marriage to Richard, our messages brought me great comfort. Now she'd been gathered up to heaven, leaving a great hole in my life. Something Richard didn't understand.

I sighed. Why did he interest me so? I'd scarcely been able to keep him out of mind for the past week. "What do you want?" I murmured. Then, recollecting myself, I said to Margaret, "I wish I could give my lord another son. Little Henry is not strong. I fear he will not make old bones."

"Has he been coughing again?"

"Yes. He seems always to be sick with something, and it's high summer. What will happen when winter comes?"

Margaret leaned forward and patted my hand. "It is not in your hands, but in G.o.d's. Only G.o.d can tell whether your son will be spared."

"Is that so, Mama?" asked six-year-old Eleanor Talbot. Margaret's youngest was the most striking of her three daughters, with fair hair the color of silver and unusually colored eyes. Now, she tilted those violet eyes up to her mother's face.

"What about Our Blessed Lady?"

"Of course, she'd know as well," replied Margaret, smoothing back the child's silky hair.

"But wouldn't she know more than G.o.d?" asked Eleanor.

Margaret frowned. "I don't know, my sweet. Why do you think she would?"

Eleanor smiled, revealing even white teeth. "Because she's a lady, and ladies always know more than gentlemen."

"Why do you think that?" I asked. Where had the child got such ideas?

"Gentlemen do not always think with their heads," remarked Eleanor, executing a stem st.i.tch.

"What do you mean child?" said Margaret. "Of course they do."

"Not always," replied Eleanor. "Sometimes they think with their p.r.i.c.ks."

I flinched, the pleasant summer afternoon gone.

"Eleanor!" said Margaret, flus.h.i.+ng. "Where did you hear that?"

Eleanor hung her head and fiddled with her work. "I was repeating only what Chantal said," she murmured. Chantal was a local girl who worked in the kitchens.

Margaret put a ringed finger under the child's chin, tilting it so that she could look directly into her daughter's eyes.

"That is not the sort of thing ladies say," she admonished gently. "You know your lord father wouldn't be pleased. And one day you'll be a married lady. You'll never be happy unless you learn to curb your tongue."

"Yes, Mama," murmured Eleanor, dimpling. "But suppose I wish to take the veil?"

Margaret was saved from replying by the appearance of a diminutive figure rus.h.i.+ng over.

"Mama! Mama!"

Three-year-old Joan threw her arms around my neck. I smiled, taking her in. Joan's dark brown, almost black hair had come free from her headdress and was coiling down her back. She was dressed in a silken dress of dark blue that was stained and badly creased. Yet she looked carefree and happy.

Annette de Caux, both governess to the older children and nursemaid to baby Henry, followed Joan at a more sedate pace. She held Joan's discarded headdress in one hand. "Lady Joan," she exclaimed. "It is not seemly for you to wander with your hair so wild-" She broke off as she caught my eye and sank into a deep curtsey.

I smoothed Joan's loose hair and gathered her into my arms. I covered her soft cheeks with kisses.

Annette sighed and thinned her lips.

Joan tilted her head and smiled. "Mama," she said, clutching at my sleeve with sticky fingers. "Where've you been? I want to play ninepins."

"It's too hot to play now, my sweet," I murmured, brus.h.i.+ng strands of hair out of Joan's face with the tips of my fingers. "And I'm busy. I must finish this sewing."

"But you're always busy nowadays," replied Joan, her lips quivering. "I only wanted to play for a little while." She pouted for a moment, then smiled.

I sighed. Joan was breathtakingly lovely, her eyes a deep blue, her face shaped like a heart. Pink roses bloomed in her cheeks. I held her more closely and inhaled her sweet scent.

"Why don't you let Annette take you to the kitchens?"

At this, Joan's face lit up. Annette folded her arms and shook her head.

"Are we going to be allowed to have sweetmeats?" Joan asked, running the tip of her tongue around her rosy lips.

Margaret laughed. "Yes indeed, you sweet child."

"Are you coming too, Margaret?" asked Joan as she scrambled off my lap.

"Lady Margaret," said Annette softly.

Margaret laughed again. "Your mother and I will come soon enough. We can play ninepins outside when it is cooler."

I bent and gave Joan one last kiss. "Go now," I said, giving her a gentle push.

"Come on, Eleanor," called Joan, holding out her hand to her friend. "We can go to the kitchens and eat as much as we like. Mama said."

Eleanor glanced at her mother, who nodded. She made her curtsey and waited for Joan.

Joan blew me a kiss and ran off with Eleanor.

Annette followed, chastising, "You should always remember to make your curtsey to your lady mother. You should always wear your headdress. Your lord father would be gravely displeased to see his eldest daughter behaving like a kitchen wench-" Her voice faded away as she continued to instruct three-year-old Joan on the proper way to behave.

Margaret and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. A sudden cloudburst prevented us from saying any more as we made for the castle swiftly.

An hour pa.s.sed, the sun came out, and I was smoothing a tuck with my right ring finger on a dress I was making for Joan when I glanced up. My heart pulsed in my throat. Bess was with the young man in the gardens below. Their heads were close together as they strolled along.

"Look at that," declared Lisette. "She's got him all to herself. She never thinks about the rest of us."

"Lisette!" exclaimed Margaret, turning towards her youngest sister.

I p.r.i.c.ked my finger. A spot of blood landed in the middle of the flower I'd been embroidering.

Margaret rose, took a basin of water, added salt, and with a linen cloth set about getting the bloodstain out of Joan's new dress.

The door opened and Bess danced in.

"Such a charming young man," she declared.

"No need to ask whom you've been with," remarked Isabel, snapping her ivory needlecase shut.

Bess turned to me. "The young man's name is Monsieur Pierre Blaybourne, and he's just joined the garrison here at Rouen as an archer."

"Now why would he do that?" asked Isabel.

Margaret looked at me closely as she continued to rub salt and cold water onto the bloodstain.

"He says he's doing it to protect Cecylee," replied Bess, laughing.

The room went very quiet as three pairs of eyes fell on me. Margaret's grey eyes grew thoughtful, Lisette's currant brown eyes flashed angrily, and Isabel's pale ones bore right through me.

I felt a s.h.i.+ver of a whiplash pa.s.s up my spine. I rose from my seat.

"I know nothing of this. I have not seen this...Blaybourne since the day we met a week ago."

Bess laughed and pulled at my sleeve. "There's no need to be so serious. He's invited all of us to the archery b.u.t.ts to see him practice with the other men. They are having a contest now and want us to judge who is the best archer."

Immediately, the solar hummed like a hive. Lisette jumped up and called for her maid to bring her new red dress. Margaret, Isabel, and I put our sewing away and summoned our women for rosewater and lavender water and for pastes made of angelica flowers and ground almonds to cleanse the skin.