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

by Christy English

  My future husband smiled down at me. Whatever Fate would bring us, on that first day, he was my friend.

  “It is a shock, Your Highness, and not the first you’ll have, now that you’re back among the living.”

  “We considered ourselves among the living at the abbey, my lord.”

  William of Ponthieu laughed, and I found his laugh infectious. It made me smile, too.

  “If you call that living. I prefer to be in the world. For better or for worse, you cannot shut yourself away from life. I think you will find that is true, the longer you are out in the world among us.”

  I did not want to argue religion with him. I was still stunned by the suddenness of my fate coming upon me. When he saw that I would not speak, William turned toward the door. Marie Helene had come for me.

  “Your waiting woman is here,” he said. “I will leave you. But know this, my lady. You have nothing to fear from me, now or ever.”

  He spoke as if taking a solemn vow. I nodded once, as if accepting his fealty.

  Then the boy was gone, and Marie Helene was beside me, holding me up. Without her hand under my arm, I did not know if I would have been able to stand.

  “My lady. Come away. We can’t have you standing in the middle of the court of France wearing that linen gown.”

  My brother’s women entered my chamber laden with gowns in silk and brocade, and soft linen shifts to go under them. I had just dressed once more in the gown of a princess when the king’s summons came.

  The messenger led me alone down winding corridors to a room deep in the center of the palace. It was a smaller room, nothing as grand as the throne room where I had been before. I stood alone in my brother’s bedchamber.

  The bed was hung with heavy brocade drapery. Though the bed was different and stood along a different wall, I recognized the room as my father’s.

  I looked for the prie dieu, where Papa and I had prayed so many times, that God might send France a son. The prie dieu was gone and an embroidered screen stood in its place.

  Phillipe sat at a table in the center of the room with wine beside him. A brazier burned at his elbow, for it was always cold in our stone palaces, even in spring. He read over a document, then signed it, before handing it to a waiting scribe. The boy bowed, a clerk little older than twelve summers. My brother watched him go, and then he turned to me.

  “Sister, you are welcome to this place.”

  I curtsied but did not kneel. I waited, but in spite of his informal tone, he did not ask me to sit down.

  He poured himself more wine but did not offer me any. I was surprised that he would think such things would offend me. I had been too long away.

  I knew how little he thought of me. I had seen the man he had chosen to pledge me to for the rest of my life.

  Phillipe watched me in silence.

  “Brother,” I said.

  His back stiffened at this informal address. The king’s power was based on the respect of others, including mine. And at court, the walls had ears.

  I began again. “My lord king, will you not reconsider my fate?”

  He smiled, and I saw a little of his charm, the same charm he had turned on the page who had just left us. I knew it for what it was, a false smile and false warmth. He often used it to gain his own ends with ease, and no doubt he thought he could do so with me.

  As I looked at him, I saw nothing of my father in him. For an awful moment, I thought I might weep. But though my father had been good, he had not been strong. My brother made a better king.

  Phillipe met my eyes, his hand still on his wine. He raised his glass to his lips and drank as if I were no more than a servant. My anger rose unbidden, my control threatening to slip even after so many years of discipline, yet I held my tongue.

  “I do not hold your fate, sister. Only God does.” His smile deepened then and I saw that he meant to mock me. He had heard of my religious convictions, and that my faith, like our father’s, was a true one. Phillipe believed in nothing except himself.

  “Is there no one else?” I asked. My voice was almost a whisper so that I would not forget myself and shout.

  “The marriage contract is already signed.”

  I wanted to plead for my life, for my future. I wanted to ask for mercy, though I knew it was futile. My brother would simply mock me to my face for being a coward. Clearly, he already thought me a fool.

  “He is half my age,” I said. “Can you find no one more suitable? Surely our House has not come to this.”

  I closed my mouth to keep myself from saying anything more. Phillipe looked at me as if I were a problem he had long since solved. He did not reprimand me or send me from him. The lying charm fell away from his eyes. He set his goblet down.

  “William of Ponthieu is good man and has served me well,” Phillipe said. “He stood by me when few others did.” My brother rose, and I saw that he would soon dismiss me. He had more important matters to attend to before he went into the great hall for the evening meal.

  “His family is an old one, and his lands stand near the Vexin. He is young, but he will hold the land he has inherited. I will not have to watch my back while I am in the Levant, for he will defend it. Your marriage will seal that bargain, no matter how young he is.”

  I thought of Jean Pierre and the way his hand felt on mine. I remembered the peace I felt when I was with him. I remembered my youth and all the years since, lost in the prison of that English nunnery. I thought of all my years to come, given over into the keeping of a boy, when Jean Pierre loved me as I loved him.

  I knew not to mention Jean Pierre. To do so would bring his death, or worse. My father’s eyes stared out of Phillipe’s face, but he did not know me any more than I knew him.

  “I have given my life for France. Has She not had enough of me?”

  I felt his hand on mine.

  Phillipe’s hand was warm but bore no calluses from riding or from war. His skin was as smooth as my own, but I felt the strength behind it. “The kingdom of France is not done with you. Not until you are in the grave, sister. And you know it.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I know it.”

  I thought of our father then, and I was ashamed. My privileged life as a princess, eating when others starved, being cared for always, was bought at a price. This was the price. I had been born to make an alliance to serve the good of France. Though I was old and tired, I had not been released from the vow I had made years ago, kneeling at my father’s feet. I would never be.

  Phillipe left me then, and I stood alone as the last of day faded into shadow. His page came back in and stopped short, surprised to find me still there. He called at once for a footman to lead me back to my borrowed room.

  Though I wished to be gone from that place, I waited until the man came to fetch me. I had thought of this palace as my home throughout the many years of my exile, but I could not find my path through the maze of corridors on my own. I had been so long away.

  6

  A Wedding

  My wedding day dawned bright with no hint of clouds. From my window above the city, I watched the people as they carried their wares, some to the market, others to the riverside. I wondered what it was like to be free.

  I thought of Jean Pierre, and whether I might send word to him without my brother knowing. I remembered the only letter I had ever written, the ill-fated letter to my father, pleading with him to push for my marriage to Richard.

  That letter had brought about my ruin and sealed my fate. Eleanor had intercepted it, and Henry had taken me as a lover the next day, ruining my marriage and the treaty bound to it. I had learned a hard lesson. Any letter I wrote for Jean Pierre would be taken directly to my brother.

  Marie Helene kissed me and brought me a glass of my favorite wine.

  “You must dress, Your Highness. The wedding is in an hour.”

  “Yes. I know it.”

  My gown was the best of the new clothes brought to me by my brother’s women, a dark blue silk that s
et off the darkness of my unfaded hair. Phillipe had sent sapphires from the treasury, so that I would not be without jewels on my wedding day.

  Marie Helene dressed my hair with gold and sapphires. When I looked at myself in the silver mirror that was part of my dowry, I saw another woman reflected back at me.

  We walked together in silence to the chapel near my father’s rooms. Marie Helene was the only woman who walked with me. My dishonor lived still in the minds of my brother’s courtiers. None were there to watch me swear my oath with the Count of Ponthieu.

  There were still songs sung of me, of how my beauty had conquered a king. But no one in my brother’s court forgot that, though once I held a king, I had failed to keep him. And that failure was all that mattered.

  The chapel had high stained-glass windows. The light that slanted in from the east made prisms of color along the stone floor. There were no witnesses but my brother, the priest, and Marie Helene.

  There was no mass on my wedding day, no feast, and no guests. We skulked through the ceremony as if God Himself might not take notice of it.

  I met my husband’s eyes as he leaned over to give me the kiss of peace. When his lips touched mine, I caught the scent of rosewood. I wondered if my brother had given him that perfume.

  His eyes were clear as he drew back from me, and there was no pretense in them. Perhaps he shared my horror at this clandestine wedding, at the fact that my brother was so ashamed of me that he did not have me married properly, with guests and celebrations, but as an afterthought, before he rode to war.

  None of these thoughts showed on my face, for I had sworn never to show weakness in front of my brother again. Phillipe seemed to admire this. He smiled at me as we turned to face him in the shadows of that chapel once our oaths were taken.

  My husband and I moved as one, kneeling before my brother. I did not look at William, but knew that he would speak for us both, as was his right from that day forward.

  “We swear fealty to you, my lord king. Know that you have staunch allies in us. You may turn your back on Ponthieu, for we will always guard it.”

  I kept my eyes modestly lowered, as a good wife should. But his steady voice soothed me, as did his strong arm under my hand. Whatever would be between us in the future, in that moment, his strength gave me comfort.

  “I accept the renewal of your vow. Now rise and give us the kiss of peace.”

  William rose first, then helped me to stand. He turned from me and embraced my brother. My husband clung to the king. I saw the truth of their relationship in that moment but did not let it trouble me. The king had many lovers. That my husband had been among them should not have surprised me.

  They held each other longer than was seemly, but no one else was there to see it. The priest had already withdrawn behind a screen. He had more important duties to attend to, a mass to perform for all the court in less than half an hour.

  Phillipe released my husband and turned to me. I offered my lips in the formal kiss of peace. Phillipe kissed my forehead instead, as if he were the elder, offering me a blessing in my father’s stead.

  “Peace be with you, sister, now and always.”

  “And with you.”

  I was careful to keep the irony out of my voice. All the court knew that he left within the month to take ship for the Levant. Phillipe and Richard were to journey there with Leopold of Austria. As brother kings in Christ, they were to take back the city of Jerusalem from those who held it.

  Phillipe held us both with his eyes for one moment more, and then he left us without another word. If he had not been king, I would have thought his leave-taking abrupt. As it was, he had more to concern him than the likes of us.

  I turned to my husband, certain that he knew what we were to do next, where we were to go. But William did not look at me. His eyes did not leave the king.

  Phillipe’s stride was purposeful and steady, the stride of a man who had seen an onerous task done. He walked out of the chapel, his cloak swirling behind him. He did not look back.

  I saw pain in William’s eyes that he was too young to mask. Love for my brother lingered there, and the sharpness of loss. I took my husband’s hand.

  For the first time that day, William looked as young as his twenty years. He was unmoored; my brother had cut him adrift. I saw then that Phillipe had not witnessed our wedding for my sake, but for his. William did not know where to turn, naked need still visible in his eyes.

  I took a step closer. Whatever came between us after, in that moment, he could turn to me. “Where do we go now, my lord husband?”

  My voice seemed to draw him back, to where he was and what we were doing there. The strength came back into his eyes, as well as gratitude. William lifted my hand and kissed it, his lips lingering not in desire, but in fealty. “Home, my lady. We are going home.”

  I did not tell him that his home was not mine. I had no home on Earth save the love I had just found in Jean Pierre’s eyes. But I smiled and let my husband kiss my hand.

  William’s lips still lingered on my skin when Jean Pierre entered the chapel. He had run up the stairs from the courtyard below. We were in the high chapel, where only courtiers could come.

  Jean Pierre stopped his stride, breathless. He looked only at my face, seeing nothing else. “You are married, then?”

  The silence that followed was so thick that I thought it would smother me. The stones of the chapel floor were cold under my felt shoes. The light from the high windows struck Jean Pierre’s face.

  William took in Jean Pierre with one glance. He saw more than he ever spoke of. Only minutes after we had bound ourselves one to another until death, William stepped away from me and offered his arm to Marie Helene.

  She moved away with him, keeping her eyes from my face. They went together to the altar, where they looked at the fine glass above the golden cross. I kept my eyes on Jean Pierre.

  “You are married.” This time he did not ask the question.

  “I am.”

  He swayed, but then drew himself up straight. He spoke as if he could not stop the words from flowing from him, as he could not stop his heart’s blood from painting the stones at our feet. “I tried to get an audience with the king. I would have asked for your hand. I would have given anything- “

  “It is already done.”

  He reached out to me but drew his hand back at once, as if I were a fire that would burn. Touch was something we could no longer permit ourselves.

  William came back to my side, as if he knew I needed him. He took my hand and let me lean on him. He met Jean Pierre’s eyes. The man I loved faced my husband without flinching.

  “You are always welcome in our home,” my husband said.

  It was all I could do to stand my ground, even with my husband’s hand on mine. But William’s words stayed with me.

  I remembered them later when I was alone. When I finally understood them, I knew what our marriage would be.

  Jean Pierre said nothing but bowed low. He would never permit himself to put one foot on my husband’s lands, much less break bread at his table, or sleep under his roof.

  I met Jean Pierre’s eyes, saw his honor reflected there and his devotion to his duty.

  I saw his love for me written on his face as Scripture on a page of vellum. I prayed to the Holy Mother that he saw mine. Jean Pierre bowed his head so that he would not have to watch us walk away.

  I looked for him as I stood by the river. I did not board my husband’s barge, though all our baggage had been loaded. Only when the tide was turning did I take my husband’s hand.

  I stood at the edge of the barge and looked back at the palace. My brother did not come down to see us off, nor any of his people. But at the last, with the sun high above my head, I finally saw Jean Pierre on the river’s edge, staring back at me.

  He did not wave, nor did I. We watched each other across that distance, and I wondered if we would ever see each other again. He would leave for the Holy Land, for the war m
y brother waged there. In that place, an infidel’s sword might cut him down and end his line forever. He was the last of his father’s family, him and one lone sister who I now would never meet.

  As I looked across the wide water, I prayed to the Holy Mother that Jean Pierre might be kept safe. That She might take him into Her Hand and protect him when he was far from me.

  I hoped he knew that I prayed for him though, as a man of action, he thought little of prayer. Jean Pierre raised his hand just as we came to a bend in the river.

  My hand went up in answer, but the river had turned, and the current carried us away from him. The men-at-arms were staring. William took my raised hand and led me away.

  He helped me to a chair bolted to the deck under an awning. I sat alone, my heart bleeding. I had lived long enough to know that though my wound pained me, I would live to bleed longer. Marie Helene came to sit on one side of me and William on the other. I roused myself from my pain to look about me, to see the boat that carried me into my future.

  My husband’s barge was more luxuriously appointed than the one my brother had sent for me. The cushions were new and deep, the wood of the chairs and the railings polished to a high gloss. Fruit and bread had been set out, along with my favorite wine from Anjou.

  William spoke to me, his voice low, his own pain pushed to one side. He made polite comments about the beauty of the day and the freshness of the food. He poured the wine himself, though he did not taste it.

  I knew that I must rouse myself. I was no lady in a song of love, to lie pining for the man I would never see again. I was a princess of France, and I had struck a bargain both with William and with God. For the rest of my life, I would honor it.

  I raised a grape to my lips and ate it, so that William would know that I valued all he had done for me. He smiled to see me eat. My husband said nothing of all that had passed in my brother’s chapel, nor of what he had seen by the riverside. He spoke evenly, calmly, as if it were any other day, as if both he and I had not had our hearts ripped out and left on the quayside behind us.