I did not wait for him to eat, but sliced fruit and crumbling cheese for him, sliding the food across the table. He did not touch his stew but took some fruit when I offered it. We did not speak for a long moment, as I set myself to my dinner. He ate a little of the pear and sat watching me. I hungered for his touch, but I hungered for my dinner more.
I remembered the time I had spent with Henry, and the affection I had felt for him in spite of his faults. I thought of my love for Richard, and how it had survived so many years and would survive my death.
As I ate, my thoughts slid from where I was and who I was sitting with, back to the day I had first seen Richard, surrounded by his mother’s women, the sunlight from the eastern window catching the gold hidden in the red of his hair. I lay my spoon down on the wooden table, the taste of the cream-stewed rabbit peppering my tongue. I felt the old sorrow that always surrounded memories of Richard yet again, as if the wound had been delivered in that moment, fresh and bleeding.
I was sick of that old pain and angry that now, in this peaceful place, in this moment of stolen happiness, the memory of Richard had come to rob me of what little joy I had found without him.
Jean Pierre was watching me, and he saw me turn pale. He leaned across the table and took my hand in his. He drew me to my feet, away from the remains of our unfinished meal. “Lady, I would ease your burdens, if I could.”
With effort, I drew my mind back from the abyss of the loss of my first love, the only true love of my life. I looked at the man standing beside me and felt his hand warm on mine. I felt his touch as if from a great distance. I tried to draw my mind back from the past, from the man I would never see again. Richard had married another woman and had loved who knew how many since first we met. Richard, it seemed, would haunt me for the rest of my life.
As I stood, overwhelmed by pain, the touch of the Holy Mother came to me. She seemed not to notice the sin that I hoped to embrace. She overlooked all the sin I had been steeped in since I had come into my husband’s house. The Mother seemed only to have compassion for my pain. With the soft touch of Her Hand, she took my sorrow away, if only for that one night.
Her Hand withdrew from me as quickly as it had come, but I stood able to breathe without longing, free of the past that had dogged me all my life. I met Jean Pierre’s eyes, and it seemed that I saw him truly for the first time. He was a man who loved me enough to hold my hand, even as I thought of another.
His clear blue eyes shone in the firelight with more love than I deserved. But deserving has little to do with what we are given in this life. With the Hand of the Virgin lingering on me still, I leaned forward and touched his lips with mine.
He was gentle, as if I were made of spun glass, as if I might break apart at the touch of his hand. It was I who pressed against him, until a fire quickened in both of us. We moved to the bed, leaving the rest of our dinner untouched.
The monks must have known what we were about, for no one came in to clear the table or to wipe the dishes clean. We ate a little of the fruit and cheese in the abbot’s bed, I wrapped in a sheet, and Jean Pierre wearing nothing at all.
I watched the play of the firelight across his body and could not stop myself from leaning over to run my hand across his chest and along his narrow, tapered waist. Our food was forgotten for a time and I wound up with soft cheese in my hair.
On toward morning, before we slept, we lay together, the last of the food put by, wrapped in cloth to keep the mice away. My head rested on his chest, my long hair cast about us like a net we both were caught in. He caressed me, but he was no longer relaxed, as I was. It was then I remembered what I had discovered as I lay beneath his body as he made love to me. He loved me more than I loved him.
“Princess.”
He spoke the one word and for a moment, I thought that he would not speak again. I was sated as I had not been in many months, if ever, and sleep dragged at my mind as the tide pulls a ship to sea. I forced myself awake, for I heard his need. There was little I could give him beyond the love I felt, but I could listen when he spoke.
“I must take you back to your husband.”
I heard the sorrow in his voice. I raised myself, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You will bring me to my husband’s house, Jean Pierre. I would have you stay with me there, if you are willing.”
I saw that he did not understand my meaning. His eyes were still shadowed by the grief he had borne since he first met me. Knowledge of my body made this grief even keener – to know me and not be able to possess me honorably. I had become a poison in his blood, as Richard was a poison in mine. There was no cure for that poison, now that he had touched me.
“Stay with you?”
“If you are willing.” I met the blue of his gaze and watched as comprehension dawned in him, and tears came into his eyes.
He knew how little I had to offer him, yet his love was so great that he accepted it with grace, as if it were a gift indeed.
I kissed him.
“You unman me, lady.”
I smiled gently, so that he could see that I was not mocking him. “That is impossible.”
He drew me close, and I rested against his chest, my cheek over his heart. This man would guard me with his life. He loved me, not for my relationship to my brother, nor for any gains I might bring him. He loved me simply, purely, and I could feel the purity and peace of his love surround me with every breath I took. I slept then, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, feeling safer than I had in many years, since my father had sent me away.
In order to keep my reputation intact, Jean Pierre left me before the sun rose. Very likely, some of the servants saw him walking to his own room, but if asked, no doubt he would have told them that he had risen early for prayer.
When he was gone, I prayed, kneeling on the prie dieu. I said part of a rosary for my daughter and for my husband, and then for Marie, who was always an afterthought with me during that time.
I turned my mind then to my sin, but I found that I could not repent. I knew that would come with time, so I left it and stood to wash my face and hands in the water left from the night before. I felt the Hand of the Holy Mother on me as I washed myself in the cold light of early morning. I saw that She was with me, even as I walked in sin. I wondered that I could still feel Her presence.
These thoughts left me as the servants came and cleared away my dinner from the night before. I had made certain that the bedclothes were clear of cheese, but the rest I left to God.
There was a certain coldness in his manner when the abbot bowed to me at the monastery gate. I nodded to him and raised my hand in parting. Jean Pierre had taken his leave already and stood far back, holding his horse by the bridle. I looked into the eyes of the abbot and was certain that a man on horseback was already riding to my husband with the news of my latest infidelity.
I could not find it in my soul to care, even for a moment. I felt free, for the first time in my life, both of sin and of sorrow. I faced my future with the calm certainty that while I would never have the best that life might once have given me, neither would I have the worst. I had seen the worst long ago when I had laid my daughter in the ground. I had seen the worst when I watched Richard walk away from me in the cloister garden at the convent of St. Agnes when I was sixteen years old.
Loss seemed to lose its hold on me, time loosening its grip. I came to see that all went the way of my daughter and of Richard. All the things of this world were not mine to keep, but only to enjoy if I was fortunate, and then only for a little while. I found myself musing thus as I took my leave of the abbot. I forgot him and his sour face almost as soon as we rode away.
The morning passed quickly on the road, with Jean Pierre never speaking to me. He was afraid even to glance in my direction and I wondered if the abbot had spoken harshly to him.
We did not stop along the road but crossed on horseback to my husband’s lands. I was anxious to be home and to hold my daughter again. Her face came back to me as we rode
, as did the look William wore when he gazed at her.
The thought of William brought me pain, the idea that he might be displeased that I had so openly chosen a lover for myself. It was a sharp quick jab which took my breath. I blinked and accepted it, looking across the pommel of my saddle to where Jean Pierre rode beside me. He flanked me, as if to keep himself between me and the rest of the world, but still he would not look at me.
I reached across the distance that separated us, for our horses walked close together, along a narrow path that had no turning. My brother’s and my husband’s men spread out before and behind us, so that we were almost alone among the shelter of the trees.
“The abbot has grieved you,” I said.
Jean Pierre looked at me sharply, surprised that I would be the first to speak. I saw then that he thought to sacrifice himself to what he thought of as the greater good, the sanctity of my marriage vows, and the tattered remnants of my honor. I felt old suddenly as I looked at him, wondering at myself, that I was more worldly in this matter than this courtier who had been to Jerusalem and back.
Even then he would not speak. I saw that the path ahead widened before us, for we were nearing my husband’s keep. If I did not speak now, I might lose the chance. I knew men and their pride, and how much it could cost me. Once there was room to maneuver, he might slip away.
“Jean Pierre, do not listen to a word the abbot said.”
He thought to argue with me and only the good manners he was raised to made him hold his tongue.
“I have no doubt he scolded you for abusing my brother’s trust, his hospitality, and my husband’s honor.”
His color darkened beneath his tan and his jaw tightened.
“Let me tell you, as one who lived in a nunnery almost all my life, there are abuses in the Church that we have never even heard of. Our indiscretion was quite small and easily overlooked. Believe me when I tell you, if my husband does not object, the abbot cannot.”
Jean Pierre looked at me for the first time since I had started speaking. “Lady, I have no doubt that he will object. What man would not?”
I was tempted to laugh, but I knew my laugh would sound bitter. I had come too far in a difficult life to embrace bitterness. I breathed deep, said a prayer to the Virgin, and let my bitterness go.
Jean Pierre had lapsed back into his own thoughts. He looked at me, startled, when I spoke again.
“William will not object, Jean Pierre. You will see.”
We said nothing else. He was so far gone in love for me that he clung even to this small hope. As we rode into my husband’s bailey, I wondered why the men who loved me were those I could not keep.
I looked at Jean Pierre as he got down from his horse. He bowed low to my husband, allowing William to come to me and help me down from my mount. As I looked past William, down on Jean Pierre’s fair hair, I knew that I would try to keep this one for as long as I could.
“Welcome home, wife.” William smiled up at me, and I was caught once again in the clear blue of his eyes.
The rest of the bailey receded in that moment, and there was only him. “Hello, husband.”
He took my waist and swung me down from my horse. I thought that he would withdraw from me then, but he did not. We stood close, one of his hands still on my waist. He reached up and brushed back a curl from my forehead. “You are welcome, wife.”
I smiled, beginning to come out of my reverie a little. “So you tell me, husband. I am glad to be home.”
“You did not want to stay at court? I am sure your brother would have made you welcome.”
“I am not made for court life. I prefer to be away and at peace.”
“One can never be at peace at court.” William’s eyes darkened with memory, and I felt him withdraw, though his hand still rested on my waist.
“That is so.”
The connection between us was gone as if it had never been. I felt my heart bruised yet again as he stepped away from me. Once the pain passed, I turned to my lover and held out my hand.
“William, you remember Jean Pierre, Count of Valois.”
Jean Pierre blinked once at my boldness. He bowed to my husband again, then stood his ground at my side. I felt my heart warm at his romantic sweetness. I saw by his stance and by the set of his shoulders that he expected my husband to call him out for being my lover.
I watched as William took the measure of my lover with his eyes. To my surprise, I saw a hint of darkness in my husband’s gaze as he looked at us, but it was quickly masked and fell away as if it had never been. I wondered after if I had seen it at all.
“You are welcome, count. My house is your house, for as long as you wish to reside here.”
Jean Pierre said nothing but bowed again.
William met my eyes and quirked a brow at me, so that I smiled at him. “There is a feast prepared for you, my lady, if you would come and eat it.”
“Yes, William, I thank you.”
I thought my husband would walk ahead of us, but he reached out and took my hand in his. I stepped toward him and let him place my hand on his arm. He smiled down at me, the light from the setting sun striking the gold of his hair. He leaned down and kissed me then, in front of his men-at-arms. It was a chaste peck, the kiss of peace, to let all who watched know that whatever I did, whomever I took as my lover, my husband stood beside me.
Tears rose in my eyes, and I had to blink to clear my sight. William led me into our home, and Jean Pierre came trailing after.
I could hear the rest of the baggage being taken off the pack mules, for my brother had gifted me with silks and spices. Later that night, when I returned to my rooms, I found all as I had left it, my new dresses the only sign that I had been away.
16
An Idyll
Jean Pierre was put in the room next to mine. I thought at first that my husband was not going to publicly acknowledge that I had taken a lover, but one of the serving women drew back the unicorn tapestry along one wall and showed me the hidden door that lay in the stone beneath. The door was well oiled and opened without a sound to reveal Jean Pierre’s room beyond.
I thanked her. She did not wink or nudge me, for I was far above her station, but neither did she seem embarrassed. I thought of my mother-in-law, the woman who had died years before I took her rooms for my own. I tested the door again when I was alone. Perhaps she had once taken a lover, as I had done.
My thoughts turned from this path almost immediately, for dinner was long over, and the serving women had brought my bath water. I sent them all away and bathed unattended, for Marie Helene was in the nursery, watching over my daughter.
I warmed the water myself over a brazier, for it had gotten cold on the way up the stairs from the kitchen building. I would have to take a firm hand and get my household in order; I had been too long idle.
I stripped to my shift and bathed my hands and face. The soft scent of thyme and dried rosemary rose from the brazier at my elbow. I did not take off my shift, but washed myself beneath it, by the soft light of the fire.
Jean Pierre came in through the hidden door. I dropped my sponge, letting my hand rest on the edge of the silver basin. He stared at my body, revealed beneath the linen by the firelight. I stood still and let him look.
He showed nothing of the vulgarity of a young lover, there was no lasciviousness in his gaze, nor hunger, nor lust. I saw the purity of his soul as he looked at me, and his courage. He had braved my husband’s house and had set aside his own honor for love of me. In that moment, as the firelight caught the shadowed blue of his eyes and the planes of his face hidden in the half light, I began to understand the depths of my love for him.
I did not move or speak but stood staring back at him. Something of my renewed love for him must have showed on my face, for his gaze softened.
He stepped forward of his own accord and took my hand. “I did not expect such a welcome, lady.”
“In my husband’s house?” My voice was breathless and did not
sound like my own. I was an old woman by this time, a woman who had borne two children and who was now approaching forty, a woman who – though still beautiful –would never see her youth again. I had not thought that I could ever feel this way again, as if a bird had nested within me, fluttering against the cage of my ribs, just under my heart. I had not felt this way with anyone, not even with Richard.
When I raised my hand to draw it away from him, I found that it was shaking.
Jean Pierre saw it, too. He caught my hand and held it against his heart so that I could feel it beating. He pressed my palm against his chest and bent down to kiss me.
We did not sleep, but lay in my marriage bed, the fire dying in the brazier across the room. My bathing things lay forgotten on the table, and I smiled as I looked at them. “You make me forget myself.”
Jean Pierre was not relaxed with me yet, as he would be in days to come. I could see that the cost of his honor was high, for he had never allowed himself to love a married woman before.
I had no doubt that he had heard the rumors about my husband and myself, the rumors of how our marriage was an empty one, as so many marriages were. I never knew for certain, for we never spoke of it.
Jean Pierre kissed me, not on my lips, a signal to begin the love play between us. He kissed me on my temple, where my hair hung down, trailing against my cheek. His lips were soft and warm, and I had begun to love the strength beneath them.
“I have not known myself since the day I saw you in that cloister garden, planting flowers.”
“I rarely plant flowers anymore,” I said, my voice wistful. “I work in my garden, but only from time to time. My husband has people even for that.”
Jean Pierre smiled despite my mention of my husband. I saw that he used the strength of his will to put his dishonor behind him. My own dishonor did not concern him; he overlooked it from the start, for he loved me simply, as no other man ever did.
Princess Of France (The Queen's Pawn Book 2) Page 15