Rickard de Burgh nodded. “Hubert will be pulled down as surely as his castle at Montgomery.”
“Not if I can help it,” William said, clenching his jaw firmly.
Henry was delighted to see the marshal back at court so quickly. “William, it was my idea to move the court from Windsor to Westminster for the wedding. Even so I’m not sure the banqueting hall will hold all the guests. I want you to bring Eleanor; I’ve set aside an apartment for you in one of the towers. Richard and Isabella’s bridal suite will be in the opposite tower. England will have two princesses after the wedding. I think it most romantic to lodge princesses in palace towers.”
William held his patience, wondering if Henry would ever grow up. “Sire,” he began, forcing himself to use the royal title, “I’m here about our friend Hubert de Burgh.”
Henry blinked rapidly and denied any part in the business. “As treasurer, Winchester needs an accounting. ’tis none of my doing.”
William looked him straight in the eye. “The document bore your royal seal.”
“I gave it into the treasurer’s keeping—I cannot be expected to carry out all the business of the kingdom myself. I have to delegate responsibility.”
“You what?” William thundered, de Burgh’s plight momentarily forgotten in the enormity of the offense of a King of England letting his royal seal be used by another.
Henry had the decency to flush. “’Twas only a temporary arrangement while I was in France. Now that I’m returned Winchester will give it back.”
“He will place it in your hands this day. I shall accompany you now while you go to retrieve it.”
“I can’t just go and ask him to give it back,” protested the king, feeling like a reprimanded schoolboy.
“Sire, you can and you will,” William said implacably.
The king and the marshal entered the Treasury Office together. William waved aside Peter des Rivaux who had recently been appointed king’s first minister. “We are here to see Winchester,” William said, not bothering to hide the contempt he felt for Winchester’s bastard.
When Peter des Roches came into the room, he scented danger. The marshal and Winchester were like two dogs with raised hackles; the king, a bone between them. Since Henry did not take the initiative, William said, “The king is come for the royal seal.” Then he added as an afterthought, “And since I’m here I might as well be repaid for expenses incurred in the French campaign.” He threw down a detailed accounting for the money he’d laid out, smiled blandly, and said, “I’ll take it in gold.”
The hatred inside the room was palpable. Winchester played for time. “It will have to be tallied and verified. It will take time.” His sausagelike fingers spread in a placating gesture.
“The accounting is exact; the king will vouch for my honesty.”
To avoid an open confrontation, Winchester had no choice but to surrender the seal and the gold. As William walked from the Exchequer with the king, he said, “Henry, Hubert de Burgh remained loyal to your father even when I turned against him. He helped secure the throne for you, and almost single-handed he held Dover against the French. More than that, he has been your dear friend. I sincerely hope you plan no treachery against him, nor allow others to do so.”
“If Hubert has not betrayed me, William, I pledge you no harm shall ever come to him.”
“Had he wished to betray you, you would never have obtained the kingdom.”
“I swear to you that I will do nothing without your advice, William,” Henry pledged.
William was satisfied for the moment. The wedding festivities of Henry’s brother Richard were all that would occupy the king in the coming week. Once the great celebration was over, William would see to it that Hubert de Burgh was exonerated from any blame.
Peter des Rivaux and Peter des Roches were unable to stomach the insult they had just been made to swallow. With narrowed eyes Winchester said, “Obviously the powder was never used on Marshal. The girl cannot be counted upon. ’tis time our young squire Allan earned his pay.”
16
The evening before the wedding was spent packing the bride’s clothes and the magnificent wedding gown with its six-foot train. All had to be transported to Westminster where the bridal suite had been prepared in the tower for Isabella and Richard.
Since it was her second marriage, she had chosen material in a heavy cream color, but that was the only concession. The gown was far more elaborate than Isabella’s first bridal dress had been. All the servants at Durham House lent willing hands to pack the bride’s belongings carefully. Then they would do the same for Eleanor and William since a suite in the other tower had been set aside for the Earl and Countess of Pembroke.
Eleanor could not resist trying on her gown one more time before it was boxed up in its protective wrappings. The maids aided her with its many petticoats, then lifted the gown of silver tissue over her head. She smiled secretly at her reflection in the mirror because she knew the queen and her ladies had copied the deep jewel tones she usually wore. Tomorrow, as usual, she would stand out from the other women like a swan midst a gaggle of geese.
Something drew Eleanor’s eyes to the doorway where William stood transfixed. The admiration upon his face was so marked she hadn’t the heart to scold him for glimpsing her gown before the morrow. He looked regretfully at the number of women present and said, “I had hoped for a few private minutes of your time tonight, but I can see how busy you are.”
“William,” she said warmly, “only wait a moment while they divest me of my gown and I’ll come with you.” She cared not a whit that she took his arm and accompanied him from the chamber dressed only in her petticoats.
All he could think was that tomorrow night he would be the one to divest her of the silvery gown. His voice was all husky as he looked down at her and said, “You look like a wedding cake or some such delicious confection.”
“I am as excited as a bride,” she confided.
He hugged her to his side and whispered, “You are a bride.”
Her eyes in the shadows were like deep pools. Impulsively he said, “I bought you sapphires to match your eyes. I was keeping them for a bridal gift for tomorrow night, but they will look so lovely against your silver gown, I’ll give them to you now.”
They moved through the shadowed halls of Durham House to William’s rooms, where he opened a drawer in his bedside table to give her the jewels. The candlelight reflected against the deep-blue gems as she opened the case, and tears of happiness blinded her. “When we return to Durham House, I’ll be sharing this chamber with you,” she whispered.
He had her in his arms in a flash, the precious sapphires momentarily forgotten as they fell to the bed. He kissed her eyelids, her temples, then found the sweet lips she offered up to him so trustingly. With a little groan he sat down in a bedside chair and gathered her into his lap. “My little princess,” he murmured, tenderly stroking her hair.
She laughed softly, “Tomorrow night I shall be a princess in a tower.”
He gazed into her uplifted face, marveling at its dark beauty. “Henry still has a childlike love of fairy tales,” he said indulgently.
Against William’s hard chest she said breathlessly, “Childish qualities in a man are not becoming. Oh, William, I am so thankful you are a real man who is mature in every way.”
Her words inflamed him, tempting him to take the male’s aggressive initiative in their lovemaking. The swell of her breasts was revealed by the delicate petticoat she wore, and his hands could no more have stopped exploring their secrets than his lungs could have stopped breathing or his heart stopped beating. “I thank God you feel that way. It eleviates my worry for you.” The back of his fingers trailed against her throat. “You are so very young, I sometimes feel I am sacrificing your youth,” he whispered huskily, “and yet you display such maturity when we hold courts of law and you help me decide policy, I forget your tender years.”
When their mouths fused and the kiss deepe
ned, she thought her very bones would melt from love. He tore his mouth from her with a ragged cry. If he was as mature as she believed, he ought to be able to control himself for one more night. Eleanor deserved to have their marriage vows reconfirmed and sanctified in Westminster Abbey tomorrow. She deserved to rejoice at the great royal banquet that would follow. Then she would feel truly a bride, and he a bridegroom.
His huge bed, however, was only inches away from where they sat immersed in love play. William was so hot, he felt his blood was on fire. He fought a losing battle; his brain’s logic pitted against his body’s needs. Eleanor moved against his strong shoulder and suddenly felt his hard manhood pressing into her soft thigh.
She reached down shyly to touch him and he jumped as if he had been scalded. He was on his feet in a flash, taking her hand and urging her from the dangerous proximity of the bed. “This chamber is too temptingly private for propriety.”
“I love your chamber. Your strong imprint is stamped upon everything in the room. In fact, that’s what I like about Durham House. Every room is a reflection of your personal taste.”
He hugged her to his side as they left the chamber and wandered along the high wall that faced the River Thames. The breeze blew a tress of her silken hair across his cheek and his hand tightened on her waist.
“It will be full moon tomorrow night,” she said dreamily.
“A lover’s moon,” he promised as the sound of a mournful ship’s horn floated up from the wide river and a gull screamed into the darkness.
Below in the courtyard, Rickard de Burgh was about to enter the knights’ quarters. He threw one last apprehensive glance at the moon before he turned in. What was it about a full moon that brought events to a climax? Something could hang intangibly in the air for days until the moon waxed full, then suddenly babies were born, the old and sick departed the earth, and men lost their tempers to spill blood. He shook his head to dispel his unease and lifted the latch.
Across the sea in Flanders, Simon de Montfort gazed at that same full moon. All in all he had had a most successful month. He had soon curbed the contentious Gascons. First he had obtained a two-month truce with Louis of France, then he set about to break the power of the nobility. The medicine he made them swallow was so severe, his hand so firm and thorough, a sudden peace descended. Next he had settled the strife that was tearing apart the Bordeaux region by imprisoning the noble troublemakers, incarcerating them in a secure dungeon with a severe seven-year sentence.
This freed some time for him to secure the favor of Joan, Countess of Flanders. He had steeled himself against disappointment before they met, so he was not distressed to find her plain of face and thick of figure. He knew he should be flattered that Joan was attracted to him the moment she saw him, for she made no attempt to hide the pleasure that transformed her face every time her eyes alighted upon him. She was more than amenable; she was downright eager.
He had bedded her almost immediately, and this day the marriage contract had been signed in the great library with its impressive collection of literature. Joan had many castles in her dower, whose baileys were filled with blooded stock. As he gazed at the moon he caught himself sighing heavily. He knew he would have many regrets, for he was a romantic at heart, but he could not afford to have anything stand in the way of his ambition.
Simon was an honorable man who intended to do his best to make Joan of Flanders a good husband. She was older than he, but she was an old-fashioned sort of lady who would obey her lord in all things. Though she was a countess, she never asserted her opinions or interfered in what Simon considered men’s business. Indeed she had shown herself to be most grateful for the honor he did her. He stretched his long limbs before his eyes left the moon, but not before he had heaved one last heavy sigh.
At dawn two great carriages arrived at Westminster from Durham House. One brought the bride Isabella Marshal with all her wedding trappings and the other brought Eleanor. She had wanted to ride, despite the unusual dampness of the summer morning, but Rickard de Burgh exchanged words and a frown with William and she was urged inside the carriage. She noted with amusement that Sir Rickard never left the side of her carriage until it arrived at Westminster.
Her maid Brenda and William’s younger squire, Allan, took charge of the luggage, but Sir Rickard insisted upon escorting her to the tower where she and William would spend the night after the wedding festivities. The tower suite consisted of two rooms, one atop the other. The sitting room on the lower level held a small dining table, comfortable easy chairs, and a welcoming fire. The bedchamber above on the upper level had a door that led out onto the crenellated battlements.
Rickard inspected the tower suite so thoroughly, Eleanor cocked an eyebrow at him and teased, “Aren’t you going to look under the bed?”
The tension left his face for the first time that day as he laughed. “A nameless fancy nags at me, but all is in order here. The Earl of Pembroke is all the guard you need. My time would be better spent at my uncle de Burgh’s elbow this day, I think.”
The passageways between the two towers were crowded with attendants and servants fetching and carrying everything from food to firewood and from beer to bathwater, and confusion reigned.
The Marshal cousins were all present. Six of the younger boys were to carry Isabella’s train while the older girls who had been Eleanor’s companions were to scatter rose petals. The female chatter of the reunited young women was loud enough to make the men cover their ears and send the pages running for ale and wine.
Eleanor bade Brenda to hasten her dressing so she could go help Isabella with her bridal gown. Her own gown of silver tissue set off her sapphires to perfection, and she had chosen to wear a silver crown atop her silken, black curls. Her friends all gasped in admiration as she arrived in time to lift the creamy lace wedding gown over the bride’s stiff petticoats.
Isabella cried out her protest as the two Plantagenet brothers came into the chamber. “Sire,” she scolded the king, “you are not supposed to let the bridegroom see me before the ceremony.”
They were in such high spirits, however, they were ready for any mischief. Richard looked especially handsome. His royal-blue doublet with matching hose had its sleeves slashed and heavily embroidered with gold thread. His russet hair curled as wildly as Eleanor’s, and the bride’s heart turned over in her breast that at last she would have her heart’s desire. Richard laughed and squeezed her about the waist. “Not even a king could keep me from you today, sweeting.”
Eleanor looked from one brother to the other. As usual Henry suffered by comparison. The king had chosen a white satin suit that did little for his blond coloring. Because of his excitement one eyelid drooped noticeably, and he thought it hilarious when a page spilled wine upon one of the flower girls. She threw her basket of rose petals at the boy and the king joined in, throwing flowers and whooping with laughter.
It took William to bring order from chaos. “The bride must be at the altar before the hour of noon or you won’t be able to receive the sacrament,” he warned Richard. “Do you have the ring, Sire?” he asked Henry, which sobered him instantly, for indeed he had forgotten it.
Isabella cast her brother a look of gratitude. Eleanor sponged the wine stain from the little maid’s dress and instructed the young boys exactly how to gather up and carry the bride’s train.
* * *
Across the channel in Flanders the marriage of Joan and Simon de Montfort was disrupted by more than a glass of spilled wine. De Montfort, although usually abroad before daylight, had made an exception this morning. They had arisen late and he had taken a leisurely breakfast with Joan. He was about to make an excuse that would enable him to be outdoors on estate business when messengers from King Louis arrived for the Countess of Flanders.
She flew into such a dither that Simon could hardly credit her agitation. She begged him so earnestly to repair to the library while she received the king’s men that he took himself off. He did not know exact
ly what was said to Joan, but he had a damned good idea when she burst into the library, snatched the wedding contract from the desk, and with trembling hands threw it on the fire.
She hissed, “If they find any evidence, they will arrest me.” She had gone deathly pale and looked ready to faint. They had been wed in her own chapel so it would be simple to silence her priest.
Simon strode out to confront the two soldiers who wore the army uniform of the King of France. As he opened his mouth to demand an explanation, Joan’s high voice gushed forth. “Ridiculous rumors have reached the king that we are married … that a marriage contract has already been signed. I shall go to Louis myself and assure him that no such marriage has taken place.”
She poured the soldiers refreshment and said, “The Earl of Leicester and I are friends, intimate friends to be sure, but I would not dream of remarrying without my king’s permission. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will prepare myself for the journey.”
De Montfort was torn between routing them from his castle or keeping a wise silence. He bowed and followed Joan from the room. Upstairs he found her trembling and in tears. “Forgive me, forgive me, my lord. I am in love with you, Simon, but Louis will crush me if I give you possession of my lands. Women have so little control of their own lives. I dared to hope I could choose for myself, but it is not to be.”
Joan began to sob and he enfolded her against his massive chest. In a ragged voice she said, “I know I shall regret this moment for the rest of my life.” She tipped back her chin to gaze up into Simon’s magnetic black eyes. “You are a magnificent man.” Her knees turned to water just looking at him. “For one tiny space of time you were mine. Thank you, my lord, for being so gallant to me.”
The enormous relief he felt that proof of the marriage had been erased told him that he had had a narrow escape. Fate had snatched him from the jaws of matrimony because his destiny lay elsewhere. He was convinced of it.