Yearning Heart (19 page)
“You will visit my daughter when you arrive in Troyes, will you, Stephen? Alix has not been well of late, and mayhap news of my coming visit will cheer her.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I travel there then to Salisbury. Mayhap before the Yule holidays, I can lay some stone.”
The manor house would soon be complete, but Stephen felt no happiness as he had once thought would be true. That was when he had a wife to ...
“You hear nothing of the Lady Rebecca? Even after a year?”
He stiffened.
“Nothing,” he said.
Eleanor sighed. Should she, herself, disappear forever, Henry would have great cause for celebration. His latest paramour could be moved closer to his royal bedroom.
At that moment, she envied Lady Rebecca Lambert, wherever she might be, for the love of a man like Stephen.
“Go in peace, Stephen,” she said. “I wish you well.”
Chapter Thirteen
London, October 1170
Rebecca's heart yet ached with the loss of her husband, but it was near two years since she departed Glastonbury. She no longer looked for Stephen each time they performed in towns where he might journey. She no longer wondered if he missed her, or indeed, bothered to search for her.
She stood in the great hall of the royal palace, taking in the bright decorations, ribbons furled across ceiling of halls and great room, royal guests in richly decorated clothing, dancing, singing, drinking.
Instead of the circus grounds they had stayed in the year before, a special invitation had come from Queen Eleanor and this year, Hugo's minstrels and troubadours were housed in a separate building behind the palace. It was spacious, warm and alive with merrymaking as only Hugo's troupes could make it.
Rebecca was a part of them. Truth, she could scarcely remember the time when she wasn't a part of the big rollicking family. Through good times and bad, through plenty and not-so-plentiful times. Not the comfort of Glastonbury, of having Malvina await her needs, or Aubin to carry a flower basket for her. Not Bundy to saddle Tor for a ride along Moon Cliffs.
Her heart twisted at such thoughts, and she turned instead to the trials of life on the road. Here, she was not protected from gossip as Stephen tried to do. Here she was face-to-face with that which must be done in order to eat, or have a dry place to sleep, or how many miles one must journey each day to reach the next village. And, of course, gossip and tales of the Plantagenets.
Rumors abounded that King Henry and the archbishop had settled their differences and were again friends. It would make Stephen's job easier, Rebecca thought, as she let her mind go into pathways she usually avoided. If ‘tis true. But Rebecca doubted that it was. She had listened and learned much in the past two years.
Queen Eleanor agitated the children to go against the king. Whispers abounded on Henry's whoring ways. The man knew not the ways of fidelity.
“ ‘Tis the way of man,” Margaret said. “His lust is as he breathes.”
“And woman, Margaret? Are we not, too, allowed to indulge our bodies when we long for attention?”
“And hast thou indulged thy lovely body, Rebecca? Hast taken to lusting after gentlemen who even now seek notice from such a beautiful damsel?”
Rebecca laughed. “Gerald thinks no one is good enough for me. One young man approached to only ask a question when Gerald took him by the shirt collar and sat him down somewhat heavily. He was sore appalled at the treatment and did not return to visit.”
“Aye, Gerald does think he was born to be thy protector, Rebecca. He adores thee even more so than the others who travel with the jongleurs.”
“My lady?”
Rebecca turned at the soft question. A maidservant she had seen in the lower hall stood in front of her.
“My lady, Queen Eleanor would have you appear before her ere you leave the performance this night. She will be in her bedchambers. Please to conduct yourself there in due time.”
“Tell her royal highness I will be there.”
Every third candle in the hallway was extinguished when the same young handmaiden who brought orders for Rebecca's appearance before Queen Eleanor led her to the door of the royal bedroom. The girl knocked softly and entered the room, standing aside for Rebecca to walk past.
Queen Eleanor lay in bed, soft blue linen pillows behind her brushed hair, delicate hands folded on the matching sheets. Her smile was bright as Rebecca curtsied and moved to stand near the bed.
She is lovely, Rebecca thought. Why does the king lust after other women? Does he not know what he has at home? He had stolen her from the king of France, yet he neglected her in his conquests wherever he traveled. How so?
The queen did not recognize Rebecca as the wife of Sir Stephen Lambert. Indeed, even without her jongleur disguise, she might not have done so, but Rebecca could not chance that and had not changed her costume before her command appearance.
“Your performances are indeed a pleasure, my dear. I love your ‘Flea’ poem. You must leave a manuscript of it.” The queen laughed softly, and then the smile faded. “Hugo tells me the troupe is to Troyes upon leaving London.”
Rebecca nodded and murmured, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“I would have you visit with my daughter, Alix, whilst there. Your performances will cheer her, but I wish you to speak with her in person and tell her that we are well. Alix has been depressed since losing her son, and I fear she will become ill if care is not taken. Tell her I will travel directly for an extended visit and to see that her health is restored ere that time.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Dost travel soon?”
“Nearer to the Yuletide so as to gather the family at such time. This should cheer Alix.”
“Yes, your highness. ‘Tis certain that it will.”
Rebecca backed away, curtsied, and moved to the door.
The queen's gaze followed the small, sequined figure, and as it disappeared into the hall, she frowned. Although it was not the season for such, there was the scent of honeysuckle in the room.
* * * *
The weather was in keeping with Rebecca's mood. Gray skies hovered low as preparations went on for departure from royal grounds. Thick mist clung to her hair, which she had left uncovered. It was warm for such a late October day, and even in the rain, voices lifted in song.
Their performances for the royal family were well received. The queen had ordered the extra food be given the minstrels and Hugo had seen to the fair distribution among the groups. Full bellies made the hard work of packing and moving seem like child's play.
Rebecca worked without rest, packing her cases then helping Gerald gather the props for his juggling act.
“Thou art a performer of much talent, Rebecca,” Gerald said, his short arms taking the box from her and hefting it into the cart. “Methinks in Troyes, thou couldst perform for the opera and work in a clean, dry house, not the muddy arenas. King Louis favors such things and, mayhap, Hugo would speak to him. Didst know they are distant cousins?”
“Nay, Gerald, ‘tis not for me even should Hugo inquire of the king.”
Rebecca straightened, pressed both hands into her back and brushed straggly, wet hair from her face.
“My place is with this group, not the opera with its powdered wigs and fancy dress. A jongleur suit meets my needs most fair.”
“Ah, but ‘tis the opera house where thou meets the kind of man thou should marry.”
Gerald did not know she was Stephen Lambert's wife. She had told only Margaret that she had been married, not to whom, and she was certain the information had been given to Hugo, but not to Gerald. Her secret would not leave the troubadour family.
Any thought of Stephen affected her still, but as time passed, the hurt lingered less and less. Rebecca forced a laugh past the tightness of her throat before she answered Gerald.
“Not to worry about a husband for me, Gerald. I wait for thee to grow up, to hie thee away to my castle there to romance forever.”
Gerald bowed low.
“Ah, Rebecca, my love, my heart awaits thou capture and wishes thou castle were nearby so that thou couldst hide me from the rain.”
For truth, he did love her, Gerald thought, but ‘tis not for Rebecca to know. She still sorrowed over yon devil who betrayed her.
Arms clutched around each other, Rebecca and Gerald staggered through the mud, singing one of Gerald's bawdy songs and laughing merrily.
Margaret and Hugo, struggling with heavy trunks, stopped to watch the pair make its way towards them.
When they came close, Hugo said, “'tis a waste of strength to sing such, Gerald. Couldst be of help to Margaret and me?”
“Ah, Hugo,” Gerald said, releasing Rebecca and bowing. “'Tis a beautiful day to sing, not so for working.” He eyed the flapping cover over a trunk and shook his head. Beads of moisture formed on his forehead and ran down his cheeks. “Mayhap a strong hand would be to thy liking. Perchance Margaret has woman's work to do.”
So saying, he lent willing hands and back.
Gratefully, Margaret gave over her hold to Gerald and followed Rebecca across the ground to the place set aside for cooking. Rebecca gathered wood, which had been covered against the rain and added it to the low fire to begin evening meal.
Tomorrow, they would begin their journey to Troyes.
* * * *
Rebecca did not like the sea.
The rushing water was much too near for comfort with waves lifting even closer to her face. Her stomach tilted with the ship, and her appetite deserted her. Food was not plentiful, so she gladly gave her share to Gerald.
“ ‘Tis pale thou art, Rebecca,” Hugo said. “Could you drink strong tea?”
“Do not worry thyself, Hugo. I partook of plenty in the royal feasts so that a missed meal will do me no harm.”
Hugo looked over the slender figure and shook his head.
“Nay, Rebecca, you need to double your food, not lessen it. When we reach Troyes, you shall come with Margaret and me to the market stalls where there be treats to calm the soul and fatten the body.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Ere that happens, my belly must sit still a full day.”
Finally, the shore was reached and their belongings loaded on carts and mules. Rebecca breathed a relieved sigh as they started on the trek to Troyes. She knew of the city from Stephen's talk, but Hugo's minstrel troupe had only reached Paris the year past, and she had not visited the markets and fairs of which he spoke.
“How do we know where to reach Alix?”
Margaret and Hugo sat across the open fire from Rebecca. They were holding hands. Gerald went from tent to tent visiting those known from fairs in other towns.
“ ‘Tis easy. She is Princess Alix, and she lives in the king's court. I will send a message that we are here.”
* * * *
Stephen's carriage arrived at the apartment where Alix resided early in the evening. A young maidservant opened the door to his knock.
“I am Sir Stephen Lambert with a message to Her Highness from Queen Eleanor.”
The girl curtsied, backed away, smiling. “This way, Monsieur.”
Stephen followed behind the maidservant, climbing a short stairway to his right where they stopped. The girl knocked and when there was a murmured answer, opened the door and stepped aside.
Facing Stephen was a wide glazed window with pale green panels blowing in the gentle wind. In a white, high-backed velvet chair sat the raven-haired Alix, a tiny smile on her lips. She held out a small hand.
“Sir Stephen. How good of you to postpone your business to see me. Most surely Mama forced you to accept such an order to visit.”
“Your Highness, it is with pleasure that I do this.”
Stephen had known Alix since she was a child, not unlike Rebecca when he first carried her to Glastonbury. A stabbing pain tightened his chest.
Alix thought Stephen had never looked more handsome. The pale cream waistcoat over dark trousers set off his blond hair that curled over his collar. Deep-set blue eyes gazed straight at her, not avoiding her teasing gaze as most British subjects did.
“How are my mother and father?”
“They art well. The queen wishes to tell you that she will visit just past Christmas while repairs are being made to the royal chambers.”
While she makes needless and costly changes to her apartments, Stephen wanted to say. While she uses tax payments for other than what they are intended, and King Henry visits more collections upon his already overburdened subjects.
“And the king yet fights with Sir Thomas?”
“Aye. It is so,” Stephen said. “The two are destined to do battle over rights of each.”
Alix moved her head weakly from side to side.
“They argue between themselves, and their argument invades even the beautiful shores of France.”
Stephen inclined his head. “'Tis true. I have talked long of the good to come of settlement, but naught has come of it”
“Thou art only one man, Stephen, and ‘tis thought it will take the kingdoms of England and France.”
Worry sat plainly on the lovely features of Alix, and Stephen did not wonder at such. Her loyalties must be stretched beyond her young reasoning.
He said goodbye and left Alix staring unhappily at the ceiling. His business needs beckoned, and he had not the time or patience to squander trying to undo damage done by his king and queen. That he loved them and paid homage to them as well as paid the same taxes he collected from all their subjects was true, but he sometimes chafed at his burden. Like now when his time for business was wasted on them.
His carriage stood by the curb with Aubin sitting stiffly atop it.
“What say, Aubin? Canst get me away to the market in haste? I would see Monsieur Cormand at the wool stalls.”
Aubin grinned at his master.
“For truth, Sir Stephen. ‘Tis well you do business within the hour as the rain threatens again.”
Did it not always happen so? Stephen wondered, staring at the dark clouds squared off by the carriage window. They looked ugly and out of sorts such as how he felt. Before they reached Monsieur Cormand's display of materials, thunder rumbled quickly behind lightning flashes, then the rains poured and the horses sent sprays of muddy water from beneath their feet.
