Devil's Brood (60 page)

“And I plan to restore it straightaway. In fact, I intend to revive the ducal government as it was under your father. Some of my father’s innovations are worth retaining, such as creating the office of seneschal for each of the Breton counties. But I know I can improve upon—”

“Stop,” Constance begged, for the unreality of this conversation was affecting her as much as the wine. Did he mean any of this? But what did he have to gain by lying to her?

He cocked his head, regarding her quizzically, and then he grinned. “I know, strange talk for our wedding night. It is just that I’ve been waiting so long, and now we can start putting all these ideas into practice—at long last!”

Constance took another bracing swallow of wine, surprised to discover that her cup was almost empty. Geoffrey reached over, took the cup from her lax fingers, and padded barefoot over to the table to refill it. Watching as he came back to the bed, she said suspiciously, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Settling down beside her again, he passed her the cup. “If I were?”

“It would be a waste of wine. You do not have to seduce me, Geoffrey. I’m your wife now.”

“Yes, you are,” he said amiably. “But what if I want more than that?”

She drank some more wine to cover her confusion. “What?”

“An ally.” He saw that she did not understand, and sighed. He rarely second-guessed himself, but he started to do so now, wondering if it would have been wiser to have waited until he’d won her trust. Her cup was tipping precariously and he grabbed it before she could spill wine over them both. “I think you’ve had enough, darling.”

She thought so, too, for she was feeling light-headed. It was a strange sensation; she’d never even been tipsy before, never willing to relinquish control. “What did you mean about us being allies?”

“I just think it would be a shame if we did not join forces, for we want the same things.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Geoffrey.”

“Shall I tell you what your priorities are, Constance? You want to keep Brittany strong and prosperous, and to protect it from your predatory neighbors—the French cub, my brother Richard, and my esteemed sire. Oh, yes, and to provide an heir, preferably two. Did I leave anything out?” When she slowly shook her head, he said, “Well, those are my priorities, too, which is why it makes sense for us to unite.”

“I do not know that I can believe you,” she confessed, vaguely aware that the wine was subverting her sense of caution. “You seem to be saying that you’d put Brittany’s interests above those of your father, and why would you do that?”

“Because our interests are not identical, even if he seems to think so. I am his third son, and Brittany is all I—we—have.”

She wondered if it was the flickering candle flames, for his eyes seemed to change color, sometimes decidedly blue and at others very grey. “Prove it to me, then,” she challenged. “Tell me how you got Raoul de Fougères to agree to hold the wedding here.”

“I am sorry, darling, but I have no sordid secrets to reveal. Raoul was quite willing to do it, needed no persuasion or extortion from me.”

She felt a sharp throb of disappointment. She’d almost let herself be taken in by his honeyed tongue and easy smile. “I am not a fool, Geoffrey! Raoul hates the English king.”

“I daresay he does,” he said calmly. “But I am the Duke of Brittany.” While she was thinking that over, he pulled his shirt over his head, and she found herself paying sudden rapt attention to his bare torso; the candlelight caught the golden glints in his chest hairs, played upon the ripple of muscles as he slid next to her. “I am going to tell you something that no one else knows yet,” he murmured, so close now that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I am going to dismiss Roland de Dinan, for he is my father’s man, not mine. Then I intend to create a new office—Seneschal of Brittany—and once I do, I am offering it to Raoul.”

“Why?” she whispered. They were lying together in the bed now, and she was faintly surprised to find that her arms had slipped up around his neck, that she was holding on to him as if he alone could anchor her to the earth.

“As I told you, darling, because I seek allies wherever I can find them.”

Constance had never felt so relaxed, so comfortable in her own body. If this was what wine did, she’d been missing out on a lot. “I would suggest, then, that you begin looking in your bed.”

“An excellent suggestion,” he said, and raised up on his elbow to shed his braies.

She moved over to make it easier for him. “Why did you not take all your clothes off ere this?”

“We were interrupted by that brawl,” he reminded her. “And then I thought it best to wait after that, not wanting to overwhelm you with my male magnificence right away.” When she laughed, he said, “Thank God, you do have a sense of humor!”

“Of course I do!” she said, but her indignation was soon forgotten, for he’d begun to kiss her throat. Her inhibitions and her wariness had been dramatically diminished by the excellent wine of Aquitaine and Geoffrey’s intriguing candor, and she delighted him by proving to be an apt pupil, quite unlike the bride he’d feared to be burdened with, the indifferent, inert virgin passively resigned to her fate. This woman was warm and willing and eager to follow his guidance, and he experienced far more pleasure than he’d expected to find in her bed. Afterward, he assured her drowsily that it would get better, but she said she had no complaints and then gave him a promising sign that their marriage would be a successful one, for she showed no inclination to talk as so many of his other bedmates did. Instead, she curled up against his back and went to sleep.

She awoke the next morning just before dawn, with a dull headache, a dry mouth, and total recall of the extraordinary events of her wedding night. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied the man beside her. He looked younger in his sleep, less guarded, and she realized that the flighty Enora was right, after all; her new husband was easy on the eye. Best of all, he was quick-witted and clever and ambitious.
We will make effective partners. We will be good for Brittany and good for each other, and who would ever have imagined it?

The sheet had slipped, only partially covering him, and she smiled at the sight of his early-morning erection, then slid over until their bodies were touching. Still half-asleep, he responded at once to the soft female curves nestled against him, and they were soon entwined together in a carnal embrace. She suspected that he’d begun making love to her without fully realizing who she was, but she was not bothered by that. She may have gone to her marriage bed a maiden, but she was no wide-eyed, convent-bred innocent. She fully expected Geoffrey to stray, for that was the way of their world. She felt confident, though, that he would never shame her by flaunting a concubine the way his father had flaunted Rosamund Clifford. He was too shrewd to make a mistake like that. And as she gave herself up to the moment, to the sheer physical sensations that he was stirring with hot kisses and intimate caresses, she discovered that he’d been right; it did get better.

H
ENRY HAD SAILED FOR ENGLAND
in the belief that he’d patched up a peace between Philip of Flanders and the young French king. It was to be short-lived. Adèle and her brother the Archbishop of Rheims had been reconciled with Philippe because of Henry’s efforts, but her other brothers, Thibault of Blois and Étienne, Count of Sancerre, were still disaffected. In an act of utter cynicism, they allied themselves with their former enemy, Philip, against their nephew. They were soon joined by the Count of Burgundy, the Counts of Hainault and Namur, and Philippe’s half sister Marie, regent for her fifteen-year-old son, the new Count of Champagne. Étienne was the first to strike, occupying Saint-Brisson-sur-Loire and then doing homage for it to the Flemish count. The hostile coalition was soon threatening Philippe’s precarious hold on power, and he appealed urgently to the English king for help. Once again Henry proved to be Philippe’s salvation, providing military aid under the command of his own sons.

E
LEANOR WAS JUBILANT
when she learned that Henry would be holding his Christmas Court that year at Winchester, for her last two Christmases had been lonely ones, with the royal court at Nottingham and then Angers. But Henry was back in England after more than fifteen months on the other side of the Channel, and her spirits soared at the prospect of seeing one or more of her sons. She was to be disappointed, though. Richard had remained in Poitou, Hal and Marguerite were visiting her brother the French king, and Geoffrey and Constance were holding their first Christmas Court in Rennes.

Henry’s son Geoff had accompanied him, as had John, but Geoff could barely bring himself to be civil to Eleanor, and John was her phantom son, vanishing with breathtaking speed every time she got within ten feet of him. Somewhat to her surprise, though, Henry was on his best behavior, so attentive that she did not have time to dwell upon her discontent. They enjoyed a pleasant supper as Henry told her what he knew of Constance and Geoffrey’s wedding, revealed that Geoff had resigned as Bishop-elect of Lincoln, confessing that he did not think himself fit for such a high office, and was now Henry’s chancellor, and disclosed that Richard’s betrothed, Alys, would soon be residing at Winchester, as she’d complained life was too lonely and dull at Devizes Castle.

Henry also reported that Richard had a tumultuous summer. He’d angered the citizens of Limoges by insisting that the city walls be torn down, and then found himself embroiled in strife with the brothers of the Count of Angoulême. Count Vulgrin had died unexpectedly in June, leaving only a small daughter, and Richard claimed her wardship and then announced that she would inherit Angoulême, which did not sit well with the count’s kinsmen.

“I would think not!” Eleanor was taken aback, for primogeniture was not the custom in Aquitaine and Vulgrin’s brothers would have expected to share his inheritance. It sounded as if Richard had poked a stick into a hive, not the best way to obtain honey.

“Richard chased them out of Angoulême, and they took refuge with their half brother Aimar in Limoges. They’ve been joined by the Count of Périgord and several of his neighbors and will be plotting mischief in the coming year. This is why Richard did not join us in Winchester, for I know he wanted to see you.”

Eleanor looked at him with surprise and some misgivings. Why was he being so kind to her tonight? When he proceeded to do his best to reassure her about the fledgling rebellion Richard was facing, lavishly praising their son’s military skills, she began to feel more and more uneasy. It had been a long time since he’d shown such solicitude for her peace of mind. What was he up to now? “Is it true that you sent our sons to Philippe’s aid last month?”

He smiled slightly. “So you heard about that, did you? Philip’s Flemings sacked Noyon, captured Clermont and Senlis, and actually got within fifteen miles of Paris. By then I was back in England, so I dispatched Hal and Richard and Geoffrey, and they were quite successful, soon had Philip and his allies on the run.”

Eleanor gazed at him in bemusement. Three times he’d acted to salvage Philippe’s budding kingship, twice intervening personally to stave off disaster, and now this latest rescue.
Name of God, Harry, why can you not be as generous to your own sons as you are to Louis’s son?
The question never left her lips, though. She knew it would only destroy their newfound camaraderie, for hers would be the last voice that he’d ever heed when it came to their children.

Henry stayed by her side after the meal was done, chatting so easily that she saw they were being watched—and gossiped about—by virtually every guest in the hall, gossip that doubtless reached spectacular levels when Henry accompanied her once she was ready to leave the festivities.

Ice crunched underfoot as they walked across the bailey. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder at their footprints in the snow, not sure how he’d come to be escorting her back to her chamber. She let Henry keep up the conversation, for her mind was racing as she tried to anticipate him, to guess what his latest scheme was. When Henry actually offered an offhand apology for Geoff’s rudeness, she was convinced that something was in the wind, and decided to put her suspicions to the test.

“I am not troubled by Geoff’s ill will, Harry. I would be grateful, though, if you had a word with John on my behalf. I tried all evening to speak with him, to no avail. Can you assure him that the sky will not collapse if he exchanges a few civil words with me?”

“I suppose I could. But you have our other lads dancing to your tune quite happily. Surely you can spare me one son, Eleanor?”

She stopped abruptly and studied him. There was just enough moonlight to catch the glimmer of a smile. “I think we need to talk. Let’s go into the garden where we can be alone.” He didn’t object and they crossed the bailey in silence, opened the wicker gate, and entered the gardens.

As she’d expected, none were about at that hour. Stopping by a bench, Henry cleared snow from it with the corner of his mantle, for he only wore gloves when hunting. He stayed on his feet, though, after seating Eleanor. “You are right,” he said in a low voice. “We do need to talk.”

She’d thought that he had political intrigue in mind and needed her cooperation. Now, though, she felt a chill go up her spine, utterly unrelated to the winter weather. “Is this about one of our children? It is not good, is it?”

“No, it is not. You know that there has long been tension and suspicion between the Holy Roman Emperor and our Tilda’s husband. It has now gotten much worse. Heinrich has been banished in disgrace, compelled to leave Germany. As soon as I learned about this, I sent Willem to the emperor to argue on Heinrich’s behalf. The most he could gain, though, was the reduction of Heinrich’s exile from seven years to three. So he will be taking refuge at my court in the coming year, and Tilda and their children will accompany him.”