Castle of Dreams (9 page)

“Do you mean, if you should die, I would
belong to King William and could not return to my father in
Brittany?” Isabel exclaimed when Lionel told her of William’s
latest proclamation.

“Exactly.”

“And if we had a child?”

“William would have the marrying of the
heir,” Lionel said. His eyes narrowed, searching her face. “What is
it, Isabel?”

“Nothing, my lord. I am just so shocked to
hear this news. Will not the barons complain?”

“They may complain all they want, it will not
change William’s mind. He does whatever he pleases, which is to
say, whatever Ralph Flambard pleases, and we must accept all
because we have given William our sacred oaths of allegiance.”

“I am afraid, my lord.” It was a momentary
loss of nerve, no more, but Lionel looked at her in surprise.

“I am amazed to hear you of all people say
that. I thought you had no fear at all. I have my eyes set on great
power, Isabel. One day, I will be the second gentleman of the land,
and you the first lady, since William will never marry.”

“Surely you cannot hope to surpass the
marcher lords in strength?” The earls of Hereford, Shrewsbury, and
Chester held huge honors along the border between Wales and England
and were the mightiest lords in the kingdom. Even William, with his
increased taxes, had not been able to do more than nibble away at
the edges of their wealth and power.

“Within the next year,” Lionel said, “I will
convince William to reveal the plan that I have suggested and that
he is now considering, to conquer all of Wales. And there, Isabel,
I shall carve out my own domain, more vast than that of any marcher
lord. My reward for my subservience to William will be all of
Wales. I will be given the title of earl, but I shall be a prince
in Wales before I am done.”

He left her stunned by his vision, and
terrified, too. She did not know if it was possible to conquer
Wales. From the little she had heard of that wild country, she
doubted it. William’s father had tried and failed, and William was
not the military commander his father had been. She feared Lionel,
his ambition ignited by his renewed friendship with the king, was
overreaching himself.

She felt certain Ralph Flambard would work
against this plan of Lionel’s, if only out of spite. And Lionel
could easily be killed in a campaign such as he had described. If
he were, that would leave her a virtual prisoner of the king she
loathed. And she had now a new, greater fear. She had lately been
queasy almost every morning. She was almost certain that dark,
tumultuous night in late September when Lionel had been so drunk,
had led to the conception of a child. She resolved out of fear that
she would say nothing about her pregnancy until it was so obvious
that she could not deny it.

“His name is Walter fitz Alan,” Aloise
confided with a languishing sigh. “Haven’t you seen him? Well, he
only arrived at court yesterday. My lord says he is superb in
combat, extremely clever, and a notable charmer of ladies.”

“He certainly seems to have charmed you.”
Isabel wondered idly if this Sir Walter would be Aloise’s next
lover. Sir Stephen was remarkably tolerant of his young wife’s
affairs, but then, he was old and growing daily more infirm. Aloise
said he was often confused, so it was possible he was unaware of
his wife’s activities. “I shall have to see this paragon of
knightly virtue,” Isabel said, teasing.

She did not have long to wait. The newcomer
was with Guy when Isabel came out of the chapel later that same
morning and paused to greet her brother-in-law.

“Are you not riding in the hunt today?” Guy
asked, looking at her costume.

“It is too cold for me.” Isabel had just
about used up all possible excuses for avoiding horses. She did not
want to ride, fearing that if she did she might be thrown and
miscarry the only child she was ever likely to have. She had gone
into the chapel to ask for guidance in the best way to tell her
husband she was with child, but heaven had sent her no help. She
felt too depressed in spirit, deserted even by the saints, to
notice at first that Guy had an older companion, until he presented
the man to her.

“Your father and mine were comrades-in-arms
when they were both young,” Sir Walter said, bowing over her hand.
“I heard that Sir Fulk’s daughter was beautiful. I had no idea how
beautiful.”

“I thank you, sir.” Isabel had heard enough
compliments on her looks not to be embarrassed by open admiration.
Recalling Aloise’s sighs of rapture over this man, she looked at
him more closely.

Sir Walter was very tall and surprisingly
lean for a fighting man. He was clean-shaven, with smooth black
hair and dark eyes, an arrogant, high-bridged nose, and a wide,
passionate mouth. Under his warm cloak he wore dark hose and tunic
and sturdy boots. Isabel guessed he and Guy were headed toward the
stables to join the hunt when they had seen her.

“Your brother-in-law is to become my squire,”
Sir Walter told her.

“I did not know that,” Isabel replied, trying
to tear her eyes away from the dark, fathomless depths of his gaze.
“Guy, you should have told me.”

“Both Guy and a newcomer to court named Brian
of Collen, who is from Wales, will be made my squires the day after
tomorrow,” Walter said, his eyes never leaving Isabel’s face.

“I do not know this Brian of whom you speak,
but Guy is a fine young man and will make you an excellent squire.”
Isabel was scarcely aware of what she was saying. She felt as if
she was drowning in Walter’s eyes.

“I’m very happy about it,” Guy offered with
boyish enthusiasm. “Sir Walter is said to be a marvelously strong
warrior. I want to learn all he can teach me.”

“I’m sure you will,” Isabel murmured, finally
managing to disengage her eyes from Walter’s.

“Guy,” Walter said, “Begin your duties as
squire early, I beg you. You may go and saddle my horse, if you
will. I’ll join you shortly.”

Guy, trained to obedience as a page, trotted
off to do his new master’s bidding, while Sir Walter remained with
Isabel.

“You are fond of him,” Walter said.

“Yes, I am.” She was still watching Guy’s
back, afraid to look directly at Walter again.

“I’ll see he comes to no harm. For your
sake.” When she did not answer at once, he added, “Look at me, let
me see your glorious blue eyes once more.”

“I must go.” But she did glance at him, and
stopped in mid-step, held by his intense look.

“I never thought it would happen to me,”
Walter said in a voice full of wonder.

“I do not understand your meaning, sir.”
Isabel tried desperately to recover her composure. She had that
drowning feeling again, and knew a flash of anger at the man who
was the cause of it. She had spoken sharply to him, but his
response was as gentle as a lover’s caress, and his voice sounded
an oddly tender note for one who did not know her.

“I regret we did not meet long ago, Lady
Isabel. I would have carried you off and made you my own before you
were wed to Sir Lionel.”

“Such an action would have destroyed the
friendship you claim existed between our fathers,” she said.
Striving for a lightness she did not truly feel, she fluttered long
lashes at him. “Surely you would not have wanted to do that, Sir
Walter.”

“You think I am only flattering you and
talking the same nonsense these courtiers talk.” Walter made a
disdainful gesture with one hand, as though the empty space before
the chapel was filled with glittering noblemen. “I tell you, my
lady, I speak seriously. I have never been so touched by a woman’s
beauty. And your eyes. I see such sadness there.”

Isabel hastily lowered the offending eyes and
attempted to put Sir Walter fitz Alan in his proper place.

“I warn you, sir, no one in King William’s
court speaks seriously about anything at all. If you are wise,
neither will you.” She gave him a cool, polite smile, no more, and
left him to his riding and hunting. It took her nearly half the day
to put his intense black eyes out of her mind.

Isabel flirted frequently. It was a
desperately needed affirmation of her desirability in the face of
Lionel’s rejection of her. She never let it go too far, lest
tongues begin to wag. In a treacherous court that was a hotbed of
vice and intrigue, Isabel’s name was unsullied by any hint of
scandal, a fact that made her feel superior to the other women.

She sensed that Sir Walter would not be
content to pay her light compliments and then leave her alone. She
would have to be careful of him. She sighed at this additional
complication to an already difficult existence.

They met again the next day. King William
himself, unaware of their previous meeting, presented Walter to
her. On this occasion Walter wore a black and silver brocaded
tunic, made of fine silk fabric from far-away Byzantium, fitted in
the latest style to show off his slim yet muscular body. Above the
bands of silver embroidery at the tunic’s neck, the angular planes
of his dark, sharply chiseled face were clearly illuminated by the
torches and candlelight filling the great hall. Next to the
red-faced king with his gaudily colored garments opened to reveal a
sweaty, hairy chest, Walter looked like a sleek black stallion.

“My lady.” Walter bent to kiss her hand, and
over his head Isabel caught a glimpse of King William watching the
action with an amused expression. She forced her features into
coldness and pulled her fingers out of Walter’s grasp. Her every
sense warned of peril from the obvious admiration in Walter’s dark
face and the intense interest in the look the king fixed on both of
them. What did William think he saw in Walter’s attitude toward
her? Isabel felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She was furious
with herself. She had thought, after more than a year at this
court, that she was well beyond blushing.

“You will entertain Sir Walter, will you
not?” King William smiled upon them, apparently every inch the
benevolent monarch, and then took himself off. Isabel saw him a
moment later, one arm around Lionel’s shoulders, their heads close
together as William spoke to his favorite. Walter followed Isabel’s
glance.

“Sir Lionel stands high in the king’s
regard,” Walter said, the soft insinuation in his voice making his
meaning unmistakable.

“Be careful, sir. I too am honored by royal
favor,” Isabel said coldly.

“If that is true, it is dishonor, from such
as he,” Walter replied.

“How dare you?” she snarled, frightened by
the need to repress a nearly uncontrollable urge to slap him. No
man, certainly not this stranger, should have the ability to evoke
such a response from her. She saw the king watching them, so she
turned her back on Walter. He moved with her, still facing her, and
she saw his eyes flick over her shoulder toward the king and then
back to herself.

“I see I have offended you,” Walter said
calmly.

“How dare you?” she hissed again, trying to
keep her voice low lest someone should hear her. “I would not … I
have never…with the king? Oh, you are despicable!”

“So I have been told more than once.” He
regarded her a moment, his face softening as he looked at her. “I
apologize for what I said. I see I was wrong about you. I knew of
King William’s preferences before I came to England, and I had
heard of both Sir Lionel and Ralph Flambard. I listen to gossip,
you see. Before I met you I thought you must be like other court
ladies I have known, who flaunt themselves and offer their bodies
freely for their own or their husbands’ advantage, but now I know
you are not like that at all. Now I have met you, and I think you
are all any man could want or dream of or hope for. I wonder if Sir
Lionel really appreciates you. I doubt it.”

“You are most unmannerly, sir. My husband is
kind to me. Indeed, he spoils me with clothes and jewels and all
sorts of entertainments.”

“Except that one entertainment that you so
desperately need.” Walter’s smile was knowing, and Isabel recalled
what Aloise had said about his conquests among the ladies of France
and Brittany. “You are still an unawakened girl, Isabel, but I see
fire in your eyes and I would rejoice to be the man to waken
you.”

“You will never have the opportunity, Sir
Walter,” she gasped, nearly overcome by this effrontery from a
stranger, “For / will never speak to you again!”

She fled from him, brushing against Ralph
Flambard as she went. She had not known he was standing so near.
She hoped he had not heard Sir Walter’s ill-advised
declaration.

“My Lady Isabel.” The handsome Flambard
produced his usual unctuous smile. “Is something wrong, my lady?
Allow me to aid you.” He put out one hand and Isabel cringed. She
saw a gleam of amusement in his eye.

She hated and feared this suave devil of a
man. She knew he worked constantly and actively for Lionel’s
downfall. Ralph Flambard would tolerate no other favorites for the
king’s attention, and he would stop at nothing to destroy his
nearest rival. If he thought Isabel was interested in Sir Walter,
or Sir Walter in her, he would use that information to do her, and
Lionel, harm.

Flambard’s hand came down on her arm. Isabel
stared at it. It was a plump, white hand, uncallused by manual work
or the use of weapons, and graced by two beautiful gold rings.
Flambard was vain about his hands. It was rumored he had special
salves made to rub onto them to keep them soft, and that he
polished his nails with a silk cloth to make them shine. The
fingers now resting on Isabel’s green silk sleeve did not look at
all like a man’s. Isabel thought of slugs in a garden and felt
ill.

“You are unwell,” Flambard said, with every
appearance of genuine concern. “Shall I escort you to your chamber,
my lady?”

“There’s no need.” Isabel freed herself from
him as quickly as she could without offering insult. He was too
powerful for her to reveal what she really thought of him. “You are
kind, but it’s only the heat in here. I need a few moments of cool
air, that’s all.”