The Princess

by Elizabeth Elliott

  Wide slashed sleeves trailed to the ground, lined with scarlet samite that was embroidered with so many gold lions that the red fabric was hardly visible. White ermine encircled the neckline and edged the sides of the surcoat to the floor, which was also embroidered in gold thread with dozens of Plantagenet lions the size of my fist. A gold belt as wide as my palm went around my waist, on top of the surcoat, and its ends reached nearly to the floor, with eight gold castles on each strap.

  Chiavari told me the three-towered castles represented each child my mother bore, sixteen in all, each added to her belt at our births. The castles were the devices of her father and my grandfather, the King of Castile.

  Altogether, my outfit was even gaudier than my Rheinbaden court attire. It was perfect for the effect I intended. I was a princess of England, and the descendant of powerful kings. Count Otto and his liege, King Albert, no longer held sway over me.

  Faulke had still not returned to Ashland when it was time to leave, so I departed for the Tower without him. I was accompanied by six Rheinbaden soldiers, six of my father’s soldiers, Crispin and Blanche, Gerhardt, Gretchen, and Hilda. The soldiers were there to keep foolish thoughts from the heads of any would-be thieves we might encounter on the streets. I was wearing a fortune in gold and jewels, and it had taken the concerted efforts of two men to hoist me into the saddle. I had to pay close attention to keeping my balance on the horse during the journey, lest the weight of my finery topple me off my mount and land me in the gutter.

  My soldiers and horses made it as far as the ward nearest the postern gates that led to my father’s apartments. The soldiers would await our return and keep the horses ready. My two knights and three ladies made it to the hallway outside the king’s apartments, where benches lined the walls for attendants to await their master or mistress while they were received by the king. A servant allowed me alone inside the apartments, into what was probably once my mother’s solar. The servant showed me to a seat at the long table, and then disappeared through a smaller doorway that led to my parents’ bedchamber.

  I had been here before, when I first returned to England, but I had never been left alone until now. The solitude gave me a chance to absorb my surroundings.

  The age-darkened beams of wood on the ceiling matched the color of the planks on the floor. Tall windows overlooked the greenery of an outer ward. The unglazed windows were framed by heavy wall hangings that hung from poles above the windows with brass rings sewn into the tapestries that let them slide over the windows at night or during the winter. A large, scarred table that looked as old as the ceiling beams stood in the center of the room, with long benches at each side, and a massive wooden armchair at the end closest to the brazier. The chair would also afford the best view of the ward. There was no question whom that seat belonged to.

  A cold meal had been laid out on the table and the servant had said to help myself to whatever I wanted. There was fruit, hard-boiled eggs, sliced meats, fresh bread and cheeses. Everything was cleverly arranged to please the eye, but none of it appealed to me. I took a seat in front of the fruit platter and contemplated the best way to explain Faulke’s absence without getting him into trouble.

  It was my fault that I had waited to tell him my secret, but my original hope was not to tell him at all, to let him discover the truth on his own at some point in the far future. Now I wondered how I had ever thought that a viable plan. Months or years of keeping such a secret would have been unbearable. This day was inevitable. I just wished it hadn’t happened so soon. Indeed, I wished I had never been put in this situation to begin with. If I had never known Faulke, I would never know what it felt like to lose him.

  My father might be the only man in England who could convince Faulke that I truly had no choice but to go along with the deception. Not that I thought it would earn his forgiveness, but perhaps Faulke would realize that not everything in our short marriage had been a lie. I did not deceive him about my feelings for him. Those were very real. They still were.

  The door to the hallway opened and Mordecai entered the solar, followed by Faulke. My breath caught in my throat. I had eyes only for my husband. My gaze greedily soaked in the sight of him, as if I hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of mere hours.

  He had dressed for court as well, in his black garments with the understated silver trim. He needed little ornamentation to let others know he was a powerful and dangerous man. It was in his bearing, in his very bones. Ach, I loved his bones. My heart yearned for his touch. I could feel it aching in my chest.

  His face was carved from stone. He met my gaze for a brief moment and I tumbled headfirst into those blue depths. His eyes lowered to take in my English garments, and then he made a point of looking away from me. I felt as if he had slapped me.

  Mordecai’s arrival seemed to be some sort of signal. The door to the king’s bedchamber opened again, and my father finally emerged. The servants who followed behind him were dismissed with a wave of his hand, and the men bowed their way out of the apartments. I dropped into a curtsey when my father turned his attention in my direction, at the same time Mordecai and Faulke bowed to their king. Mordecai’s bow was respectful. Faulke’s bordered on insolence. My curtsey was made awkward by the weight of my garments.

  Edward looked from Faulke to me, and then raised his brows, the question clear in his eyes. I gave a small nod.

  “Ah, yes, I assumed these unexpected visitors from Rheinbaden would bring other matters to light.” He turned to Faulke. “I was told that you were accompanied to the Tower this morning by your father rather than your wife, just a few days since your marriage. I am also told that your father requests an audience.”

  It wasn’t a question, and Faulke remained silent.

  “Is your marriage consummated?” he asked Faulke.

  A muscle in Faulke’s jaw worked several times before he handed the king a sealed parchment and answered, “Aye.”

  “Then I have no business with your father. My servants have already told him that he is dismissed.”

  “Your pardon, my liege. My father wishes to renegotiate parts of my betrothal contract, now that new information has come to our notice.”

  “The marriage is done,” the king said. “The contract is sealed. There will be no revisions.”

  “I ask only that certain provisions be added for my daughters’ betrothals,” Faulke said.

  I held my breath, aware of my father’s temper, knowing it could be set off by Faulke brashly continuing his plea to the king.

  “I am listening,” Edward said, sounding more curious than angry.

  “My youngest, Lucy, is all but settled on Baron Tenby’s heir, Albert,” Faulke said. “However, my eldest daughter, Claire, and my middle child, Jane, are still unclaimed. Claire is the granddaughter of the Earl of Wentworth, and she is of an age with your son, Edward. Perhaps—”

  “The future King of England will not wed an earl’s granddaughter.” Edward stroked his beard as he gave Faulke a speculative look. “But you knew that already. Do you have more appropriate grooms already picked for your daughters?”

  “I do, Your Highness,” Faulke said after a brief pause. He gave my father a deep and, this time, respectful bow. “I have tried to negotiate a match between Claire and Remmington’s heir, but Remmington will not commit. If you gave your official blessing to the match, I feel certain we could draw up the betrothal papers to both our satisfaction. As for Jane, she is a substantial heiress through her mother. Gilbert de Clare’s nephew, Henry, is of a suitable age, and also an heir to a barony. Jane’s wealth would suit Henry’s needs, and his titles would suit mine.”

  “You would consider these betrothals appropriate compensation for your own betrothal contracts and the new information that has, how did you say it? Come to notice?” Edward asked.

  Faulke gave me a sideways look, and then returned his attention to my f
ather. “If the contracts are drawn up favorably to my daughters, and the grooms are the ones I mentioned or similar substitutes, then aye, betrothal contracts for Claire and Jane would be acceptable and I would ask for no more addenda.”

  “You will not contest your marriage or any of its terms?” Edward asked.

  Faulke gave me a look I could not interpret. “Nay. The marriage will stand uncontested.”

  “Very good. Mordecai, see to it that the betrothals are arranged.” He motioned to the benches. “All of you, be seated. Mordecai, read Count Otto’s petition to us.”

  My heart sank. My father had no intention of explaining anything to Faulke about my unwilling role in our marriage. The bargain was made, the contracts sealed, and now we were all obliged to live with the consequences.

  Despite my husband’s feelings toward me, or lack thereof, I felt a silly surge of relief. I had known my father would never consider an annulment, but there had been that small sliver of doubt that I had not voiced, even to myself. Now I knew for certain that Faulke was tied to me for the remainder of our lives. That thought should not make me feel better, but somehow it did. He would always be mine. Whether he wanted me or not.

  It was not much, as far as consolation went, but it was all I had at the moment. The rest of our lives could be a very long time. He already told me that he needed my connections. Perhaps he could learn to forgive me.

  My father took his chair, I sat next to him, and Mordecai took the seat next to mine. Faulke sat across from us, as far from my father and me as possible.

  My mood dimmed.

  Mordecai began to recite the contents of the missive from a parchment that had appeared from one of his sleeves. My gaze went again to Faulke, drawn to him like a magnet. I noticed one of my marks on his neck, just above his collar. I thought of my ladies’ reaction that afternoon when Hilda and Gretchen had dressed me, when they realized that Faulke’s marks were all over me, too.

  After an embarrassing silence, Hilda said that a man who had so clearly staked his claim on a woman would not be satisfied with a few short nights in her bed, and she predicted that he would have new marks on me within a fortnight. I hadn’t believed her optimism then, and, looking at the icy gaze Faulke kept trained on my father, I didn’t believe it now.

  The mention of Leopold’s name brought my attention back to Mordecai, who was naming everyone in Count Otto’s envoy from Rheinbaden who would attend him at King Edward’s court. I felt my blood run cold.

  “A squire by the name of Hartman von Tyrol is also listed,” Mordecai said, giving me a pointed look. They had brought my husband’s bastard to my father’s court. “The count has requested a private audience with you first, Princess, before he meets with your father. Do you have any notion why he would request such a meeting?”

  “Unless Otto has greatly changed since the last time I saw him, he intends to blackmail me into supporting whatever his mission in England might be.” I frowned, seeming to recall Mordecai saying something about the petition from King Albert seeking my father’s support for something. Ach. I needed to pay less attention to Faulke, and more to the events unfolding before me. “Given the list of men who accompany him, I doubt his goals are anything I would care to sponsor.”

  “Tell us what you know about each of these Rheinbaden men,” my father said, “anything at all that might be useful to know before we meet them.”

  I began with Count Otto’s six attendants and their relation to King Albert. All were minor noblemen, some good, some bad, all ambitious. And then I told them an abbreviated version of what I had told Faulke the night before about Otto, but I left out Leopold’s visit to Grunental several months before Hartman’s death.

  “His squire is his niece Maria’s eldest child. ’Tis a well-known secret in Rheinbaden that all of Maria’s children were fathered by my first husband,” I said in conclusion, really for Faulke’s benefit, since my father and Mordecai already knew the boy’s identity. Despite young Hartman’s age, I would assume he was my enemy. Faulke had once made it clear that he wanted to know the names of all my enemies. My health and longevity would matter to him now more than ever. “I do not know the child, but I am certain he loves me no more than his mother does.”

  “So he has brought the boy here to taunt you,” Edward surmised, with a glance at Faulke. “Or to threaten you with secrets that are already exposed.”

  “That is a reasonable assumption,” I agreed, staring down so I wouldn’t have to see the anger in Faulke’s eyes. In addition to remaining quiet about the reasons I was coerced into my marriage, it would seem my father had no intention of outright admitting his knowledge of Maria and her children. In his role as king, I could understand his reasoning. As my father, he had betrayed me.

  “Tell him the rest,” Faulke bit out.

  “I have said everything of importance.”

  Faulke’s level tone didn’t change. “Liar.”

  “Have a care, Lord Faulke.” Mordecai inclined his head as he spoke and gave Faulke a look that demanded obedience. Faulke scowled at him in return.

  “By your leave, Your Highness,” Faulke said to my father, with exaggerated politeness, “my wife left out a very important part of the story about Leopold and his father that will clearly illustrate the characters of the men King Albert has sent to you as his representatives.”

  At the king’s nod, Faulke repeated every word of the story I had told him about Leopold’s visit to Grunental, and how Leopold had tried to compromise my honor.

  By the end of the story, my father’s hands were fisted on the table.

  “You should have told me about this plot, Isabel.” The anger in his voice was as clear as the note of censure. “Was King Albert aware of the incident at Grunental?”

  I lifted my chin. “Everyone at court was aware of what happened, and speculated on what didn’t. The rumor began to circulate that I had invited Leopold’s knights to my apartments. Of course, no one knew who had started the rumors, but the culprit appeared obvious to me.”

  I jumped when my father’s fist smashed down onto the table, and I had my first taste of the quick, explosive anger he was known for. I thought I caught the trace of a smile on Faulke’s face, but when I turned to look at him, he was staring at the king with no expression at all.

  “These men dare to set foot in England?” Edward rose to his feet and pointed toward the door as he glared at Mordecai. “Send for my guards! When their ship docks, take every one of them to the dungeons. Put the screws to each, until one of them confesses their crimes against my daughter.”

  “Sire,” Mordecai began, holding his palms up in supplication, “they are ambassadors, representatives of the rightful King of Rheinbaden.”

  “I don’t care if they are representatives of Jesus Christ himself,” my father raged. “I want them arrested.”

  “Aye, that can be easily done,” Mordecai said.

  My father was angry on my behalf! I couldn’t help but smile.

  Mordecai held out his hands in supplication. “Arrests cannot be so easily undone. There will be consequences, my lord, far beyond the offense to our allies in Rheinbaden. We have ambassadors in other courts even now, negotiating with rulers who might rather see them on a spit. What sort of example would it set for future negotiations with our allies and enemies alike?”

  “I don’t care.” My father sat back down, still fuming, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he did care, and his anger was fading. His next words were an equal mixture of bluster and frustration. “What good is it to be king, if my hands are forever tied by wretched diplomats?”

  “There are other ways to bring justice to criminals.”

  Something in Mordecai’s tone made a chill go down my back. I knew without being told that Dante Chiavari was one of those ways, and I felt certain Mordecai had other methods at his disposal that were
just as deadly.

  “Aye, there are,” my father agreed, with a remarkable improvement in his mood. I could almost see the anger fade into something craftier.

  I wondered if I had just witnessed a warrant for someone’s death, Leopold’s for certain, and perhaps his father’s as well. No, I was reading too much into that brief exchange.

  “Is there any possibility that King Albert does not realize these men are your enemies?” Edward asked me as he reached for a boiled egg.

  “None, sire.”

  “When they arrive for an audience, show Count Otto and his contingent to my small receiving chamber,” he told Mordecai. “Assemble six of my most trusted knights to stand as guards. None others are to attend me. I would have the smallest audience possible, when we learn Count Otto’s real objectives here.”

  He sounded calm and sure of himself again. If I hadn’t just experienced my father’s anger, I would have denied it could have happened.

  “Count Otto and his son are my daughter’s enemies, and are therefore no friends of your king,” he told Faulke, his tone still matter-of-fact. “These men are foreigners one and all, loyal to a king with uncertain allegiances to England. You will set aside any differences you have with me, or with your wife, and stand as a faithful servant to the crown while these men are in England.”

  “I am your true and loyal subject, sire.” The two men exchanged a long look.

  “Bring your sword and weapons upon your return here,” Edward said at last, with a nod to Faulke’s empty scabbard. “Isabel will stand to my right. You will stand a pace behind her. The new English captain, Sir Crispin, will stand to my left, and then Isabel’s Rheinbaden captain. I want them to know that we welcome her people, but Isabel now stands with me, with England.” He gestured toward me. “Just in case her garments fail to remind them that she is first and foremost a daughter of England.”