Here Be Dragons - 1 (20 page)

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, no fool. So why, then, did he agree to a plight troth? Why did he not insist upon a wedding?"
OM Bordeaux, John moved south into Gascony, and then began a slow circuit back into Poitou. On Wednesday, August 24, he crossed the River Charente, and the next morning was welcomed into the walled capital city of Angouleme.
The great hall of Aymer's ancient castle had been swept clean, strewn with fresh rushes and sweet-smelling herbs, hung with embroidered wall hangings of red, green, and gold. Aymer's Countess, a striking, statuesque woman who bore no resemblance to her cousin the French King, insisted upon personally acting as John's guide, proudly pointing out her favorites among the hangings: the
Five Joys of the Blessed Mary, and the Story of Paris and Helen. John made the proper admiring responses, but he was impatient to see the girl he'd one day be taking to wife and, sensing that, the Lady Alice excused herself, went to fetch Isabelle.
"You have told her, I assume?" John asked, and Aymer nodded.
"But of course. She was both awed and honored that Your Grace should think her worthy of a crown, and she vowed that you should never repent your choice."
John gave Aymer a skeptical smile, and winked at Will. He had enough experience with children to know that no twelve-year-old was likely to harbor such lofty sentiments, much less express them aloud. He only hoped the girl was truly reconciled to the plight troth; England must seem as distant as
Cathay to a girl who'd never been anywhere but Angouleme and Valence. Will's littla Ela had been a twelve-year-old bride, too, and remembering how fearful she had been, approaching the altar like a lamb led to the slaughter, John hoped Isabelle would be of sturdier stock. But the memory of Ela's unease gave him an idea, and he beckoned to Will. "What say you we send the lass to Ela at
Salisbury?"
Will beamed. "An excellent thought. I daresay she'd be less homesick with Ela and me than at your court. She'd be good company for Ela, too . . ."
He stopped, for John was no longer listening. He'd taken an involuntary step forward; Will heard him murmur, "Good God." Turning to see what had so transfixed his brother, Will found himself staring, too, at the girl coming toward them. His mouth dropped open; the shock was all the greater because he'd instinctively cast Isabelle in Ela's image. Expecting an endearing, coltish clumsiness, bitten nails, and shy, sidelong glances, he saw, instead, a slender vision in turquoise and silver silk, a delicate oval face framed in a cascade of shimmering light. Will

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had occasionally seen young girls who'd matured too early, overly ripe and knowing beyond their years. Isabelle d'Angouleme was not one of these, had not forfeited the touching and poignant appeal of innocence. And yet she held the eye of every man in the hall. It was the first time in his life that Will had ever seen a woman who could truly be called "unforgettable," and it was with a vague sense of shame that he acknowledged the sheer physical impact of the girl, reminding himself hastily that she was not a womanwas, for all her startling beauty, still a child of twelve.
What amazed him even more than her appearance was her poise. She approached
John without a trace of nervousness, sank down before him in an eye-pleasing curtsy. But after a moment to reflect, Will realized why; no girl who looked as this one did could long remain ignorant of her advantages. For the first time he glanced toward his brother. John was staring at Isabelle so avidly that Will decided John, too, needed to be reminded of Isabelle's extreme youth.
"Your Grace," she said, her French attractively enhanced by the soft accents of Provencal, the langue d'oc spoken throughout Eleanor's domains.
"No, darling, the grace is yours," John said huskily. "I'd have you call me
John."
Aymer had been standing to one side, watching with an odd little smile, one
Will had seen once before, that July night at Lusignan Castle. Stepping forward now, he said, "I explained to Isabelle that you thought it would be a kindness to delay the marriage. She assured me, however, that will not be necessary, told me she would like to be wed at once. Is that not so, Isabelle?"
"Yes, Papa." Isabelle gave John a dazzling smile. "That is indeed my wish."
But only Will noticed as she then surreptitiously wiped the palms of her hands against her elegant silk skirt. Poor little lass, he thought; so she was not so different from his Ela, after all. And his heart went out to her in a surge of protective, paternal tenderness.
"Is that agreeable to Your Grace, then? Have I your permission to make plans for the wedding? As the Archbishop of Bordeaux is in your entourage, he could officiate. On the morrow, shall we say?"
John had yet to take his eyes from Isabelle. "By all means, Aymer," he said, and smiled at Aymer's daughter. "The sooner the better."
"OH, how beautiful! Is it truly for me?"
John smiled. "Truly. Here, turn around and I'll fasten the clasp for you."
Isabelle did as he bade, sitting beside him on the garden bench

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Because of her youth, she wore no wimple or veil, but let her hair fall , e down her back. John brushed it aside, fastened the necklet about her throat;
even in the moonlight, the stones glowed, opals the shade of twilight and amethysts of deepest purple. "Emeralds would suit you better, I think. Do you like emeralds, Isabelle?"
"They are green, no? I've never owned much jewelry. I do have a betrothal ring from Hugh. But I suppose I must give it back now, must I not?" she said impishly, and John laughed.
"Indeed not; consider it a keepsake. You have no regrets, then? About not marrying Hugh?"
"Oh, no! I would have tried to be a dutiful wife, truly I would. But but I did not want to marry him." Isabelle hesitated, not sure whether such candor was permissible. "He was so much older than me, older even than my papa. He had salt-grey hair, not black and glossy like yours, and his eyes were always bloodshot and he ... he made me uncomfortable sometimes, the way he looked at me ..."
"As if he were starving and you were on the menu?" John suggested, and she gave a startled giggle.
"But I look at you that way, too; have you not noticed?"
"I do not mind it with you," she said softly, lowering her lashes to cast silky shadowed crescents upon skin so perfect it looked like porcelain. John reached over, stroked her cheek. When she did not pull away, he leaned closer still, touched her mouth with his. Her breathing quickened; he could see the rise and fall of her small breasts, budding against the bright silk of her bodice. He kissed her again, this time as a man would kiss a woman, and found that the entrancing flirt who'd invited such intimacies was but an illusion born of the moonlight and his own desire, found himself holding a fearful little girl. She submitted docilely to his embrace, let him explore her mouth with his tongue, but her body had lost all pliancy, was rigidly unresponsive under his hands. John released her, frowning, and tears filled her eyes.
"I did not please you?" she faltered. "Papa said I must, said I"
"Isabelle, hush. There is nothing about you that does not please roe. I do not expect you to know how to pleasure a man, will teach you all you need to know." He began to caress her hair, let his fingers trail across her throat.
"And they'll be lessons much to your liking, that I can Promise you."
There was no anger in his voice, and Isabelle was emboldened to confide, "Papa told me I must not let Hugh touch me till we were wed, °ut.. . but he said I
should let you do what you will. And I was so afraid because if we bedded together and then you did not want me as a wife, Papa would have blamed me for that, would have been so Wroth ..."

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"Isabella, listen to me. Forget what your father told you; it does not matter.
You do not belong to him any longer. You belong to me, and I d0 want you. I
want you as my Queen, I want you in my bed, and right now I want you on my lap." John smiled, but she reacted as if to a command, at once settled herself upon his knee, and put her arms shyly about his neck.
Her obedience delighted him, and he realized suddenly that he wanted her as much for her youth as in spite of it; she was still unformed, as malleable as she was beautiful, soft clay to be molded and shaped as he desired. "You are so fair to look upon," he murmured, then began to laugh. "And I've done Hugh de Lusignan an even more grievous hurt than I dared hope for!"
THE great hall was in utter chaos, as the entire household of the Count of
Angouleme labored to make ready for the wedding on the morrow. When Will could abide the confusion no longer, he escaped out into the gardens. It was becoming increasingly apparent to him that this wedding had been planned weeks in advance, so sure was Aymer of his daughter's power to enchant. He wondered briefly if he should mention this to John, decided it was pointless; John was not being shoved to the altar at swordpoint, after all.
He was approaching an intricate arbor of white thorn and willow, walled by trellises and fragrant with summer honeysuckle. As he came nearer, he heard a man's voice, low and coaxing. "You have to trust me, love. You do, do you not?" The girl's voice came even more clearly to Will's ears, an innocent accomplice in her own seduction. "Oh, but I do, truly I do." Will was genuinely shocked; he'd recognized the male voice at once as his brother's, but he found it almost impossible to believe that John could be so reckless, so unforgivably ill-mannered as to debauch one of Aymer's womenfolk on the very eve of his marriage to Aymer's daughter. What if it had been Aymer who'd come upon them? he thought, and strode forward, a warning hot on his lips, only to stop, dumbfounded, at sight of Isabelle.
Isabelle gave a little gasp of dismay, flushed bright red. It was one thing to tell herself that John had every right to fondle and caress her as he chose, that it was proper to allow him such intimacies. It was quite another for his brother, the Earl of Salisbury, to discover her sitting on John's lap, her hair in telling disarray and her bodice partially undone.
She came hastily to her feet, jerking at her gown, so flustered she might have fled had John not reached out, caught her hand. Rising unhurriedly, he said soothingly, "You've no cause for embarrassment/ love. It is not for Willor any otherto pass judgment upon you."

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And with that, Isabella suddenly and fully comprehended just what marriage to
John would mean. That she would get to wear a crown and nj0y unknown luxury, that a son of hers would one day be King of cnglandall of that she'd already grasped, though it was not quite real to her, not yet. The awareness that came to her now was more immediate, and therefore more easily understood. All of her life she'd been taught it was her duty to obey, to please others, first and foremost the father whose expectations she could never quite satisfy. But no more. She need not ever worry again about her father's anger. Nor about her mother's sharp-tongued reprimands, or Hugh de Lusignan's hot rages, or the jealousy and spite of girls less favored than she. She had only to please one man and one man alone, and as long as she was secure in his approval and affections, no one else's disapproval mattered.
Isabella drew a deep breath, giddy with the realization that she who'd had so little power would now have so much. When I am Queen of the English, she thought in awe, it will be Papa who'll have to please meme! And she looked at
John in wonderment, Will all but forgotten.
They could hear other voices in the gardens now, women's voices. Isabelle cocked her head, listening. "My mother . . . she's calling for me." But she did not move, looked to John for guidance. "Would you have me go to her?"
John nodded, bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing her palm. "It is late; you'd best be in." Watching as she gathered up her skirts and ran lightly up the garden path, he said admiringly, "Lord God, what a beauty she's going to be, Will! To think she almost ended up in Hugh de Lusignan's bed;
talk about casting pearls before swine!"
He was turning to follow after Isabelle when Will grasped his arm. "John, wait. I want you to tell me I misinterpreted what I just saw. I want you to tell me that you do not mean to bed that little girl."
John's eyes narrowed, took on sudden green glints. "Are you worrying that I
shall dishonor her ere the wedding? How quaint. But you can put your mind at ease. I do intend to wait till the morrow . . . though that be no small sacrifice!"
"Christ Jesus, John, she is but twelve years olda child! You do not think I'd have touched Ela, do you? Nor will I, not till she's of a proper age for bedding. As you must wait with Isabelle. Her father would exPect no less; he's entrusting her to your care, your keeping. If he even suspected you"
John gave an angry, incredulous laugh. "There are times when your innocence truly defies all belief! Who do you think sent us out into *he gardens? You fool, I could lay with Isabelle at high noon atop a table ln trie great hall, and Aymer would cheer us on!"
But John did not truly want to quarrel with Will. Those very ele-

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ments of Will's nature that made him champion Isabelle so stubborn! were also those that made him the only man John had ever been able t trust. He paused, then said impatiently, "Will, you are my brother, m companion, even my confidant. But my conscience you are not, and thank God for it. I suspect you'd put a saint to shame! Good Christ man, what do you think I mean to do, go after her like a stag in rut? Yon know me better than that, Will, or you bloody well should! I admit I've forced a woman or two in my life, but you name me a man who has not I'm no Will de Braose, and you know it. I prefer a willing bedmate prefer a woman who wants what she's getting."
He grinned suddenly. "I assure you, Isabelle will be in good hands. I had my first woman at fourteen, have long since lost count. You think! did not learn from all those couplings? That I'd not make Isabelle's deflowering as easy for her as I could? She's more woman than you know; I'd wager it'll take no more than a fortnight ere she's not only willing, but eager."
"John, you must not"
"Sweet glory of God, enough! Better me than de Lusignan. Now let that be an end to it."
Will knew his brother well enough to read the danger signals, but he felt honor-bound to persevere. "I do not doubt that de Lusignan would have wasted no time dragging the lass into bed. But you know better, John. The very fact that you feel the need to justify yourself proves that. It would be wrong to bed a twelve-year-old girl, no matter how fair she is. It's not . . . not decent. And it's dangerous, as well. What if you get her with child? I need not tell you how many women die in childbirth . . . and the younger the mother, the greater the risk."
John caught his breath and then swore. "Will, I'm warning you for the last time! You've pushed to the very limits of my patience. I'm heartily sick of this, will hear no more on it."
But as he swung about, Will followed him onto the path, hastening to keep pace. "What of your own daughter, what of Joanna? Can you tell me you'd want to see her as a man's bedmate at twelve, a mother at thirteen? John, I know what I'm saying! My Ela could not have"
"Pox take your Ela, and you, too! I see nothing noble in your forbearance;
I've met Ela, remember? I do not wonder that you're in no hurry to claim her maidenhead. But I doubt you'd be so saintly if it were Isabelle naked and eager in your bed!"
Will recoiled violently, backed away. John did not wait for a response, stalked up the path. He did not look back, but Will watched, unmoving, until he was out of sight.
As deeply offended as Will was, even greater was his sense of hurt. Never before had he felt the full lash of John's Angevin temper. His was