Lady of Hay (47 page)

Refusing to meet the glance in the mirror, Matilda went to put her arm around Isabella’s thin shoulders and dropped a kiss on the fair head.

Isabella looked up and smiled weakly. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Matilda took the comb from the maid and gently continued combing, drawing the fair hair back from the girl’s hot face.

“And you’ll attend me tomorrow, in the abbey?”

“Of course.” Matilda tried to smile at Amicia. “Do you attend your sister too?” she asked quietly.

At once the eyelids were lowered. Amicia nodded meekly. “I do my duty, madam, as my mother demands of me.”

“Where is Lady Gloucester?” Matilda couldn’t help wondering why the woman wasn’t with her daughter at a time like this.

Amicia shrugged. “We see little of our lady mother, madam. Since our father died, she prefers the company of men and, of course, of the prince.” Her voice was heavy suddenly with innuendo. In the mirror Matilda saw the younger sister blanch. The girl’s hands, clasped in her lap, were white at the knuckles, and she felt a rush of sympathetic anger. It was insufferable that this small delicate girl should be linked with someone as insensitive and boorish as Prince John.

“I hope, Lady Matilda,” Amicia went on, not taking her eyes from Matilda’s face in the mirror, “that you will do me the honor of attending me at
my
wedding. I know Sir Richard would be pleased. You are, I believe, such an
old
friend.”

Matilda could feel a flush of anger mounting in her cheeks, and she instantly wanted to give hurt for hurt. “I shall be pleased to, my dear. It will after all be rather an anticlimax for you—after your sister has wed a prince.” She was sorry instantly that she had said it. Isabella gave a little gasp, looking up at her sister pleadingly, while Amicia, white with fury, rose to her feet and swung for the first time to look Matilda in the face.

“Prince John is a brute, madam, and a cruel man with women, as everyone knows.” She looked coldly at her trembling sister. “I wish Isabella joy of him. I shall have a kind and gentle husband. But then”—she almost spat the words—“you would know all about the qualities of Sir Richard, madam.” After gathering her rich green skirts about her, she swept out through the curtained doorway, leaving the other two to gaze at each other in horror. Isabella’s eyes were filled with tears. “I don’t know what’s happened to Amicia. She used to love me.”

“She’s jealous of you, child.” Matilda took the elder sister’s place on the stool and put her arm around Isabella. “Can’t you see? Her younger sister is marrying a royal prince. It is more than she can bear.”

“And she’s jealous of you because you’re so beautiful and the world says Sir Richard loved you once.”

Once.

Matilda’s arm fell away from the girl’s shoulders. Yes, he had loved her once. She had thought he loved her still. It had been that knowledge which had bolstered her during the long lonely nights when she had had to submit to William’s rough attentions, and which had somehow comforted her against all his abuses when he was drunk. She shivered suddenly. She had not realized that anyone else had ever guessed their love. But these two people knew. Isabella, who would be the wife of the prince, and Amicia, who was to marry Richard. And if they knew her secret, how was it possible that the rest of the world did not know it too?

Above the camp the stars were enormous in the bronze-black arch of the sky. She stopped for a moment on her way back to the de Braose tents to gaze up at it, feeling the immensity of it above her, quietly soothing her. A slight breath of hot air, almost a breeze, stirred the skirt of her gown for a moment, then the night was still again.

“Do you find it hard to sleep, Lady Matilda?” She started at the deep voice at her elbow, and then, recognizing with a guilty shock the figure of Prince John in the shadows, she curtsied low.

“I was returning to our tents, sir, after visiting your bride.”

John frowned. She could see his face quite clearly in the luminous starlight, strong and clean-cut, with the arched brows and heavy high-bridged nose of the Plantagenets. His shoulders had broadened with manhood and the hot Normandy sun had tanned his face to a uniform darkness. He smiled at her, showing white, even teeth. “How is my little bride? Still shaking at the thought of the ogre she must marry?”

Matilda clenched her fists at his mocking tone. “She is very young, Your Highness, and very shy. You must give her time.”

“She has had time. Ten years to get used to the idea.”

“She has also had ten years to brood over the cruelty you showed her at Gloucester.”

John threw back his head and laughed. “I had no idea I had made any impression on her at all at Gloucester. So much the better. I see you are sorry for her, Lady Matilda. I think you should spare me some sympathy. Imagine being married to that little milksop. Can you see her in bed? Can you see her the mother of strapping sons?” John laughed bitterly. “I’ll wager the good Sir William had no such fears about you on the eve of his wedding!” He glanced at her sideways, “But then,” he went on, following his own train of thought, “I
must
have sons. It is imperative that I secure my own line…” He stopped abruptly. “Are you coming to my brother’s coronation, madam?”

She smiled, relieved by the sudden change of mood. “You must know, surely, that women are not invited, Your Highness. It appears the king does not share your appreciation of the female sex.”

John snorted. “True. The king wants it to be a sacred occasion. I would have women if it were
my
coronation. Women everywhere! If ever I am crowned, Matilda, you shall attend me. I swear it.” He threw his arm around her shoulders roughly and reached across to kiss her cheek. Then before she had a chance to struggle he released her abruptly and with another lightning change of mood turned away from her. “You know that my brother is to marry at last? It was agreed before my father died. He and Alice, the daughter of the King of France, are to marry.” He gave a cynical laugh. “My father no longer needs the lovely Alice to comfort him, so he felt he could at last spare the lady to her rightful betrothed and honor the agreement with King Louis.”

“Sir!” Matilda was shocked. “I can’t believe that there was any truth in the rumors that your father loved Alice. Why, that’s almost incestuous, his own son’s betrothed. I’m sure you don’t really believe it either.”

John merely shrugged. “My father was a passionate man. A great man in many ways.” He was thoughtful for a moment, gazing up at the burning heavens. “He was a good king, my father.”

Matilda stirred uncomfortably. She wanted to return to her tent. The prince’s moody company made her nervous; the camp seemed totally deserted. She wondered too what he was doing out here by her tents quite unattended, and almost as though he had read her thoughts he smiled at her again, throwing off his reverie. “The banqueting hall was too hot for me. A stag-night roister is all very well, but if the groom melts clean away before he gets to his bride it defeats its purpose, so I came out. Half the good fellows in there were asleep, your husband among them. The others are too hot to care, and if they do, they suspect me of going to find a final friendly bed for the night.” He laughed again, a dry mirthless laugh. “My last night with a real woman, before I have to commit adultery to gain satisfaction from my bed.”

Another slight breeze stirred the pennants hanging above the tents and gently moved the skirts of Matilda’s kirtle over the ground, which was beginning to gather dew. She felt herself grow suddenly cold. Taking a step away from him, she quietly closed her fingers on the folds of her kirtle, holding it dear, ready to run. She took a deep breath. “It is late, Your Highness, and I attend your bride early in the morning. If you will excuse me…”

“I have not yet thanked you for your wedding gift,” he went on, as if she had not spoken. “Three hundred cows and a fine Hereford bull, they tell me.” He smiled, his eyes blue slits, catlike, in the dark face, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I’ll wager that was your choice, Lady Matilda. I sense a touch of irony there. No, my lady, I’ll not excuse you, not yet.” His hand reached out, touching the shoulder of her gown. “Why do you fear me?” he said softly. “I’ve not harmed you.” His hands were on her shoulders, gently pulling her toward him. They were strong hands, the hands of a man.

She raised her eyes to look into his face. There was no sign there of the boy she had so disliked, nor the importunate adolescent who had accosted her at Winchester. These thin, arrogant features were those of an adult, and, she suddenly realized, alarmingly attractive.

“Your Highness.” She tried to draw back, but he was holding her too hard, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arm. His face was close to hers.

“I have not dismissed you, my lady,” he breathed. “Nor do I intend to, yet.”

Mesmerized by the intense blue of his eyes, she felt her lips meet his at last with a shock of recognition. For a moment her body seemed to cleave to his, then abruptly his strange spell was broken as a voice rang out cool and loud from the dark near them. “Good evening, Your Highness, my lady.”

John released her with an oath and whirled around, his hand flying to the hilt of his dagger.

A figure had stepped out of the shadow of one of the pavilions and, coming nearer, bowed low. As he stood up again, tall and slim beside the figure of the prince, Matilda saw with a sudden gasp that it was Richard de Clare.

Richard bowed to her formally and distantly, and then turned again to the prince, grinning. “We missed you in the hall, sir, and some were growing worried.”

“Indeed, Lord de Clare.” John’s voice was low-pitched and very cold. “It was good of you to volunteer to find me. As we are so soon to be brothers-in-law perhaps you felt a family feeling of protection?”

Richard colored a little at the note of sarcasm, but he bowed amiably enough. “Shall I walk with you, sir? Lady Matilda looks tired. I’m sure she’s anxious to get some rest.”

Recovering herself as best she could, Matilda swept a deep curtsy to the prince, then she turned toward her own quarters, picking up her skirts as soon as she was out of sight, and careless of her dignity, ran toward the safety of her tent.

***

It was already growing dark, and the wedding celebrations were all but over the next day when at last Richard sought out Matilda from the thronging guests and guided her toward the shelter of a tall hedge threaded with honeysuckle and dog roses. His face was grim. “You’re playing with fire when you flirt with John, surely you know that,” he began furiously.

Matilda blushed. “I did not flirt with him! He followed me. I had no wish even to talk with him, believe me. I dislike that young man.”

Richard glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t talk so loud,” he said anxiously. “Well, he certainly likes you, and it wouldn’t do to make an enemy of him by showing you don’t return his feelings.” He glanced at her obliquely.

“Are you suggesting that I—”

“I am suggesting nothing, Matilda. Just take care. Please.” He put his hand gently on her arm.

Matilda pressed her own fingers miserably over his, swallowing the lump that came to her throat. “I will take care, Richard. I know he’s dangerous.”

“I leave tomorrow to attend the coronation.” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Then I go to Cardiff. I am to marry Amicia of Gloucester within the month.”

She felt rather than saw his eyes on her and blinked back her sudden tears. “I know, Richard. I wish you every happiness.” She took a deep breath and turned away for a moment, trying to regain control over the misery that had welled up until it was almost too great to bear. When she faced him again she was smiling. She broke off the delicate pink shell of a dog rose and pushed it gently into the clasp of his mantle. “Let us still be friends, Richard dear.” She was almost as tall as he, and gazing at him for a long, last moment, she leaned forward suddenly and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, then she turned and fled.

She sent her maids away early that night and, blowing out the candles, lay dry-eyed in the dark, listening to the distant shouts and music that floated across the encampment. William, she knew, was with the prince. Richard too, she supposed; the three men with whom her life seemed inextricably bound, drinking together at the banqueting board, toasting each other into the night.

She lay for a long time listening to the giggles of the two girls who attended her as they prepared for bed beyond the thin canvas partition in the tent, then gradually as they grew quieter her eyelids became heavier and eventually she dozed.

It was Gwenny, the elder of the two, who wakened her, roughly shaking her shoulder in the dark. The camp was silent, and the coals in the brazier beyond the tent flaps were long dead. “My lady, you’re to come quickly.” The girl was shaking with fear.

Matilda sat up. “What is it? What has happened?” She reached for her bedgown and wrapped it around her naked shoulders as the girl lit the candle by her bed.

“You’re wanted, my lady. In the Countess of Gloucester’s tent. Quickly.” Gwenny was panting slightly, still shocked from her own awakening by the countess’s terrified maid, and the candlelight showed her round face plump and perspiring as she searched by the bed for the discarded leather slippers. “Oh, my lady, there is such trouble there, I hear.”