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

by Christy English

  When the second course was brought out, the footmen also brought a fresh wine, the light white wine from Anjou that I loved. I looked at John with new respect. My affinity for roses was widely known, but his spies were well informed indeed to tell him of the wine I drank.

  I raised my glass to him in a silent toast. “So, my lord prince. What brings you to meet me by the roadside and to offer me such honor?”

  “My Lady Alais, please let us not speak of business over dinner. Let us enjoy the good food and the entertainments I have planned. After that, we may talk together.”

  “As you wish, my lord. You are my host.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  John smiled at me, offering me a bite of suckling pork from his knife, as Henry once had done. I took the tender meat with my fingertips and ate it slowly, watching John all the while. I saw the fire of lust light his amber eyes for the first time and I began to see the way his thoughts were tending.

  Still, I said nothing as the last course was taken away and the fruit brought in. I kept an eye on Jean Pierre as the same jugglers and fire-eaters who had greeted us came in and performed once more.

  Jean Pierre seemed to have turned to stone, so I drew my eyes and my mind from him. I knew that I needed to keep my wits about me, for John was cleverer than I had ever heard him given credit for.

  The mountebanks were quite skilled and would have been entertaining had my thoughts not been tending toward John and his intentions. As I lifted my glass for more watered wine, I looked to see if a priest lurked in the shadows, ready to marry me to John then and there, but I saw none. I wondered if one waited just outside.

  The entertainers left us, John showering them with gold. I raised one eyebrow but said nothing. In Henry’s court, such people would have been paid, but in silver, and somewhere out of sight.

  John turned to me as they left, raising one hand. In that moment, every footman and serving woman left us, until we were alone, just myself and Prince John, with Jean Pierre standing over us, as still as stone.

  “My lady Alais, can we not speak in private?”

  John’s gaze moved pointedly to the count. I swallowed, praying that Jean Pierre would not draw a dagger from his boot and kill the heir to England’s throne then and there. The count still stood unwashed in the clothes he had worn on the road, though he had taken his armor off. As far as I knew, he had not eaten or drunk anything since we had come into camp four hours before. He stood unmoving, as if John had not spoken.

  I met Jean Pierre’s eyes then, and I saw him soften as he looked at me. His love for me would keep him silent and would keep John alive. I thanked him only with my eyes, but he seemed to understand. Jean Pierre relaxed just a little as he stood watch over me.

  “Anything you have to say can be said in front of my brother’s vassal,” I said. “The Count of Valois has kindly come to guide me to the king, though he is soon to leave for the Holy Land, in the company of my brother, and yours.”

  At the mention of Richard, John’s face was shadowed for the first time. His pleasant, bland expression fled, and I saw the darkness of his soul. I did not blink, for I had seen worse, but I knew now that I could not allow this man to have power over me, then or ever. I thanked God and the Virgin that Jean Pierre was there. I might need him to fight our way out; in the end, I knew that he could do it, and get us both to a horse, even if we were forced to leave his armor and my goods behind.

  I forced myself to relax. It would not come to blows, if I could help it.

  I prayed for my father the diplomat to look down from heaven and to bless my tongue with skill it did not have. Then I turned to face Prince John and schooled my looks to sweetness.

  John was not pleased that I refused to dismiss Jean Pierre, but he hid his displeasure and the darkness beneath it behind a charming smile.

  “Very well, Your Highness. If you lap dog would like to stay, by all means, let him.”

  I held my tongue and did not look at Jean Pierre. I could feel the heat of his anger from where I sat. But he was a man who kept his head in battle, and he kept his head then.

  “Princess Alais, you have been ill used by my family.”

  I kept my own face bland, my smile pleasant. I could not believe that he would actually name his father to me.

  “We will not speak of the late king, out of respect for you.”

  I thought that Jean Pierre might reach for the dagger in his boot in that moment, but he did not. I kept my eyes on Prince John.

  John smiled at me, and for the first time his smile was oily, unctuous, as if he was certain he could convince me to bend to his will. I saw for all his talented spies and all the information he may have gathered, he did not yet know me.

  “Richard has discarded you with no thought for your station or your rank. I have heard it said that he will not even return the Vexin when you go home to France.”

  I wanted to reach out and slap the smile from his face. I kept my hand still on the table before me. My rings gleamed in the lamplight. I was not a violent woman, but it seemed John was the one to bring out the violence in me. I breathed deeply and thought of my daughter in her grave in Winchester until the impulse passed.

  “I am sure that my brother the king has seen to the disposition of my dowry.”

  I rose as if to go, and John caught my hand. I froze, and Jean Pierre took one step towards me before he stopped himself. I could feel his eyes on me. I knew that he would do nothing without my leave.

  I had never had a man back me before, without regard or question for anything else. It was a heady feeling. I knew that if I asked it of him, Jean Pierre would strike the prince down, even if it brought the whole camp down on our heads. I smiled, strengthened by the man behind me.

  “My lord prince,” I said, “I thank you for your concern for me. My brother, Phillipe Auguste, thanks you. I will tell him of your concern, and of your wishes for my happiness when next we meet.”

  I forced his hand then, for he clutched me when he meant only to charm. John released me at the mention of my brother’s name. I knew that for the moment, my brother and Richard were allies. It seemed that John knew it, too.

  John had meant to use me to shore up his power against their alliance, until a better day came, as one always did for the likes of men like him. Men without honor could afford to wait. The wind would always blow their way once more.

  “I would offer you honorable marriage, my lady Alais. I would offer you this kingdom, all that you survey, if you would pity me, and become my bride.”

  I saw in that moment that this move was not just a political one. The prince was moved by my beauty, but more importantly, he was drawn by the fact that I had once been his father’s whore, and his brother’s plaything. He wanted what neither his brother nor his father would ever have again. In this, he wished to conquer them both, as well as conquer me.

  If he married me, John hoped also to force my brother’s hand, so that the valuable county of the Vexin might pass to him, shoring up his position as the landless, younger son. Just as John did not know me, neither did he know my brother.

  At such a blatant disregard of his express wishes, Phillipe August would go to war until all John knew and held dear was driven into the ground. Phillipe Auguste would leave off all talk of the Holy Land and wars for Christ. He would turn all the force of his will and all the might of France on ruining the man who sat before me.

  I looked down at John and pitied him. He was a man born to live always in the shadow of his betters. I knew I had already won. I was gracious in victory, as my brother never would have been.

  “My lord Prince.” I spoke softly. I looked at him, my face bland, my eyes clear of malice. “You do me too much honor. Whatever my own feelings, I am but a weak woman, called home by my brother the king. I cannot defy him, this night or ever. Your lordship must look from me, and honor another.”

  John sat listening to my words. He swallowed them, as he had no doubt taken in much bitterness before.
I thought for a moment that he would fight me even then. But he knew that he was beaten, and not by me. I was simply reminding him of what he already knew. We were both pawns on another’s chess board. And no doubt, we always would be.

  He rose and bowed to me, the gallant knight once more, though he had never fought in battle and, as far as I knew, never did.

  “My lady Alais, forgive my impetuous words. I have been overcome by your beauty. Please convey to your brother my deepest regards. See to it that he knows that he ever has a staunch ally in me.”

  I stepped back from the table and curtsied deeply to him, as if he was already king. “My lord prince, it is my honor to be your messenger. And know this: after this night, you will have a friend and ally in France.”

  I knew no such thing, nor could I make such promises. But John’s position was so weak, with both his mother and his brother allied against him, he would grasp at any straw. He bowed over my hand deeply, as if I had promised him a kingdom of gold. When he rose once more and met my eyes, I saw that though he strove to deceive himself, he had failed.

  “I thank you, my lady. Be my guest this night. Stay amongst my men and let them guard you. In the morning, they will escort you to the dockside, where you will board your brother’s ship for home.”

  “I thank you, my lord prince. I am ever in your debt.”

  John smiled and this time his smile was genuine. He went so far as to lead me by the hand to the door of the tent, which was tied open to the night air over the river.

  “I will have someone send a meal to your tent, for your lap dog.”

  Jean Pierre had crossed the tent beside me. At those words, he turned and met the prince’s eyes. I had seen men give such looks over their shields on the tilting yard. Such looks meant that, if they did not kill their opponent at arms, it would not be for lack of trying.

  I said nothing more but took Jean Pierre’s arm and drew him from the prince’s presence. He loved me, for he walked away. He sent only one more look to John over his shoulder. I said a prayer in my mind to the Virgin, and she heard me, for I got Jean Pierre back to my tent and the flap closed with no blood shed.

  Once in my tent, neither of us spoke. I watched him, drawing off my gloves as I did so, casting them down onto the table beside the roses. Jean Pierre did not move, except for a muscle that jumped in his cheek. I stayed silent.

  Before long, women came into the tent with food and more flowers. They set Jean Pierre’s meal on the table. I saw that it was the same dinner the prince and I had eaten, though it had now grown cold.

  The women also brought in the roses from John’s table so that soon my borrowed tent was filled with the scent of flowers.

  Still, Jean Pierre said nothing. I nodded, giving the women leave to go.

  “Will you eat, my lord?” I stepped to the table and began to cut the food for him, serving him on a bronze plate that had been set down for that purpose. I took up the bronze pitcher to pour him a glass of wine.

  He reached out, his hand as quick as a striking snake, and stopped me. “You will not serve me.”

  I met his eyes and raised my other hand, placing it over his. Something in my touch was his undoing. He sat down then, heavily, as if he had run far in armor. I drew his meal toward him and set his wine beside his hand. I mixed a little more with clear water and poured a glass for myself. When I tasted it, I found it was still the sweet white wine I loved from Anjou.

  I sat beside him, keeping my hand over his. Jean Pierre ate then, slowly, for he was hungry. The road had been long, and the night’s doings had left him weary. He met my eyes as he finished his meal and I saw that his pain had risen to meet me.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “Forgive me for bringing you here.”

  Jean Pierre did not answer but lowered his lips to my hand, where it lay on the table between us. He kissed my skin, the warmth of his lips filling my senses until even the scent of roses faded and there was nothing left but him.

  “Let me love you,” he said. His voice was so low, I thought he had not meant for me to hear.

  I looked at him, and he raised his eyes to mine. I saw that he wanted me to hear him, and to obey.

  I knew myself to be as weak and wanton a woman as I had ever been, for I kissed him, long and lingering. He rose from his chair and drew me with him until my body was pressed against his. His hands rose into my hair, drawing it from beneath the veil I wore, until my curls spilled over his palms and down my back.

  He sighed deeply and released me. I leaned against him, both of us breathing hard. I said a prayer to the Virgin that She might guide my steps. I still felt weak, and selfish, wanting nothing more than to lay down with this man and damn the cost, whatever was. But I listened for the Holy Mother and, as always, found that I knew the answer already.

  “I cannot lie with you,” I said. “I belong not to myself, but to my brother. What honor I have left must be given to him.”

  Jean Pierre said nothing. I felt the hope run out of him, as water from a broken jar. I stayed by him, leaning against him, taking in his strength, shored up by him as I had been by no other man, not even my father.

  “I love you, Alais.”

  I could not answer him. I felt my own love rise from my heart into my throat where it lodged, unspoken. I clutched him close, my touch my only answer. He stroked my hair.

  We did not sleep that night. I lay on my borrowed bed and he sat beside me on a chair drawn close. We did not speak but watched the fires in the braziers burn down as he held my hand. He did not move to touch me in any other way as the fires surrounding us turned to ash.

  4

  Marie Helene

  John was as good as his word. He saw me off himself and gave over ten of his men-at-arms to accompany us. Jean Pierre rode close to my litter all that day, in case of ambush or kidnapping. But even when we came to the dock at Dover, still John’s men did nothing. They escorted us as far as the ship, then bowed to us and went away.

  Jean Pierre and I sat together under an awning on the deck. I was not sick as I had been as a child. Even the dangerous waters of the Channel did not frighten me any longer.

  As we sat under an awning on the deck, Jean Pierre brought me fresh melon cut from the rind and sweet wine. He sang for me, very low, so that none of his men might hear. They all could see that we were taken with each other, and with my reputation, no doubt they assumed we were lovers already. These men were careful to look the other way, for they were loyal to him as much as to my brother and would follow Jean Pierre to the Holy Land and beyond. I was glad that he would have them to guard his back.

  When we docked, I was sure that I would be wretched. Though I was returning home to live a life of a great lady, to make an alliance to shore up the power of France, I found I no longer wanted it. I wanted only Jean Pierre, to feel safe with him as I had with no other man.

  Though he said nothing, I saw in his eyes that a part of him would have denied the Holy Land and the Crusade he had sworn to fight. He might have turned his back on all of that for me had I been free.

  But I was not free. My ties to the throne of France were as strong as they had ever been. Now, as a woman grown, I knew the cost of war. I knew that once again, I would lay down my life and the lives of my unborn children to make an alliance for France. I wished, when I looked at Jean Pierre, that I had not been born a princess of the realm.

  I was sad when we docked at Calais, but my sorrow soon was tempered. For I found Marie Helene waiting for me. I had not seen her in over twenty years, since I had been sent back to the nunnery. After my disgrace, she had been married to a man not of her choosing.

  I was in her arms before I could speak, my tears wetting the fine silk of her gown and kirtle. She held me so tightly that I thought my ribs might bruise. It was as if the dead had been restored to me. I had never thought to see her face again this side of Paradise.

  Her eyes were as blue as they had ever been. Even her golden hair had hardly faded, but gleamed bright aga
inst the dark blue of her wimple. She met my eyes, leaning hard against me.

  We did not speak, and it was a long while before I found my voice. We simply stood, clutching each other by the quayside. Jean Pierre’s men-at-arms stared at first, then looked away, horrified to see a princess of the blood behave with such open emotion. Even then I did not pull away from her, but I made an effort to stop crying.

  Marie Helene drew a soft kerchief from her sleeve and wiped my eyes with it. “There now, my lady. There is no need to weep.”

  I laughed when she said that, for tears were on her face as well as mine. I took Eleanor’s linen from my sleeve, the kerchief emblazoned with the queen’s crest. I moved to wipe away Marie Helene’s tears. But when she saw the queen’s coat of arms on that kerchief, she recoiled from my hand. I thought for a moment that she might spit on it in her hatred. But the moment passed with only a hideous look on her face, as if she had eaten something vile. I saw this look for what it was: loyalty to me. So, I put my kerchief away and wiped her face with her own.

  Jean Pierre watched all this in silence. The rest of his men turned away to regard the water, their boots, or the mud along the roadside. But Jean Pierre looked only at me.

  I knew him well, even after so short a time. I saw that he was glad I had a friend to stand by me at court, when he himself could not.

  With my arm around Marie Helene’s waist, I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  “So,” I said to her. “You are like a phantom risen from the ground. How long do I have you with me?”

  “For as long as you will have me, my lady.”

  I was surprised and showed it, for I knew she was a married woman. She had never written to ask me to call on the king to bring her away from her husband, so I had always assumed that she was happy with him. Or, if not happy, at least content, as most married women were.

  I saw a sorrow in her eyes that she did not want to speak of, so I turned to Jean Pierre. “Marie Helene, I present to you my escort and protector, Jean Pierre, Count of Valois. He has stood by me on the long road to France. He has stood by me against even my enemies.”