Always (2 page)

“Le Mans?” Robert asked with dismay.

“Aye.” The king turned his steed toward the gates and urged him forward. Shrewsbury was immediately at his right, keeping pace. Aric had to spur his horse forward to keep close enough to Henry's left side to hear him as he went on. “Richard attacked Le Mans. I ordered the suburbs outside the gate set afire to hold him off, but the wind turned. Le Mans is ashes.”

Aric winced at this news. The king had been born there. His father, the Count of Anjou, had been buried there. The loss of his birthplace would have been hard to bear. And that assured Aric that there was more to this story that he needed to know.

“What was that?” Robert asked, from Aric's left side. “Did he say Le Mans burned?”

Waving the question away, Aric addressed the king instead. “And yet you slipped away to see to your daughter's wedding? Why not wait until after all is settled?”

Henry looked displeased at the question, but after a glare at Aric for his impertinence, he snapped, “To ensure her safety should things not go my way.”

“Safety from what?” Aric pressed. If he was expected to keep her safe, he had to know where the threat might lie.

The king was silent so long, Aric had begun to think he would not answer; then he suddenly announced, “There are rumors that Eleanor had Rosamunde's mother killed. I believe them.”

“But Queen Eleanor was locked up at the time of her death,” Robert pointed out, crowding Aric's mount with his own as he tried to keep abreast of the conversation.

“Aye, but she has servants, those who are faithful to her and are willing to do her bidding.”

“But would she have wished Rosamunde dead, enough to murder her?” Aric asked, frowning at Robert and tightening his hold on his own mount's reins, trying to keep him from crowding the king's horse as they neared the gate.

“As you'll recall, my wife is eleven years my senior. I was nineteen when we married and she thirty. And she was newly divorced from Louis VII, the King of France. She lost her title as queen of France, married me, and became queen of England when I acceded to the title. Think you she would risk being set aside again? Another annulment? Lose another crown?” He shook his head grimly. “Nay.”

Leaning forward to peer around Aric, Robert asked, “Why did you not—”

“Punish her? Have her killed for the deed? I wanted to. But I made a promise to Rosamunde. She made me swear never to unseat Eleanor. She did not want to be queen, just mine. Sweet, naive girl. She said it would accomplish no good and merely cause more political upheaval for me. 'Sides, she feared for our child. She was terrified that Eleanor might see the child dead for revenge.”

There was silence for a moment; then Aric murmured, “I did not know that there had been a child.”

“No one knew. Her mother wished it so.”

All was silent but for the clip-clop of the horses' hooves as they crossed the bridge over Shambley's moat; then the king announced grimly, “The hounds are nipping at my heels, lads. My sons wish to bring me down. Ere that happens, I will ensure my daughter's future.”

“So we are heading to collect your daughter and see her and Aric married?”

Aric glared at his friend. Robert sounded too damn cheerful. But then, he was not the one about to be forced into marriage to the bastard daughter of the king of Eng
land. Dear God, just the thought of it made him cringe. Now Aric's whole life would be spent with a spoiled little—

“Aye,” the king interrupted his thoughts. “She has spent her life at Godstow Abbey. We shall go there and see to the marriage; then Shrewsbury and I shall head back to Chinon. You, Shambley, can help Aric get her back to your keep to collect his men. Between the two of you, you should be able to keep her safe.” He glanced at his soon-to-be son-in-law. “I would have preferred your men accompany us, Aric, to supply a proper escort afterward, but that would have slowed us down. One thing I do not have is time.”

When Aric nodded silently at that, Henry apparently decided all was settled. The king urged his mount to a gallop. All Aric could think, as he urged his horse to follow, was
I am to be married.

Lady Adela, abbess of Godstow, frowned down the length of the table at the nuns all seated for the nooning meal. Sister Clarice, Sister Eustice, and Lady Rosamunde were missing. It was not unusual for Sister Clarice to be late. The woman was late for everything. Most likely she had forgotten to fetch the incense for the mass that would take place after the meal, and had gone to retrieve it. Sister Clarice always forgot the incense.

As for Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde, however, the two were always punctual, as a rule. However, they had not been at the morning meal either. Come to that, they had not been at matins, lauds, or prime. At Godstow, it took an emergency to keep a nun from mass, and this would be no exception. Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde had been in the stables through the night and well into the morning, working over a mare who was having difficulty birthing her foal.

But surely they were not still at that! she fretted, then
glanced sharply toward Sister Beatrice, who had stumbled over the passage she was reading. Seeing that Beatrice along with all the other women were peering up the table at her, Lady Adela arched an eyebrow questioningly. Sister Margaret, the nun seated on her right, made a motion with her hands. Margaret held one hand up, the fingers fisted but for the baby finger, which hung down like the udder of a cow. With her other hand, she imitated the motion of milking.

Adela blinked, then realized that she had picked up the pitcher of milk and held on to it, thoughtlessly, as she worried about the missing women.

Passing the pitcher to Sister Margaret, the abbess gestured to the others to continue with their meal, then rose and moved to the door. She had barely stepped into the hall when she spotted Sister Clarice hurrying down the corridor, a slightly guilty flush on her face. Unable to speak during mealtime, Lady Adela once again arched an eyebrow, demanding an explanation of the woman's tardiness.

Sighing, Clarice raised her hand and propped two fingers upward until they were inserted in her nostrils, somehow managing an apologetic look as she did so.

The action was a pantomime to announce that she had forgotten to provide incense for mass—as Adela had suspected. Shaking her head, the abbess gestured for Clarice to continue on to her meal; then she made her way out to the stables.

The building was silent but for the faint rustle of hay as various animals shifted and glanced curiously toward her as Adela entered. Gathering the hem of her skirt close to avoid trailing it through anything unpleasant, she made her way down the rows of stalls until she reached the last one. There, Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde were kneeling by a panting mare. She stood for a moment, peering affectionately at their bent backs as they toiled over the laboring beast; then her mouth dropped with dis
may as Sis Eustice shifted and she could see exactly
how
Lady Rosamunde was toiling.

“What in God's name are you doing?”

Rosamunde stiffened at that horrified exclamation from behind, her head whipping briefly around to see the abbess gaping at her with dismay. Then she swiftly whirled back to soothe the mare as the animal whinnied, its muscles shifting around her hands.

Leaping to her feet, Eustice ushered the horrified Adela a few steps away, babbling explanations as they moved. “The mare was having difficulty. She labored for hours before we realized that the foal was backward. Lady Rosamunde is trying to help.”

“She has her hands
inside
the mare!” Adela pointed out with horror.

“She is trying to turn the foal,” Eustice explained quickly.

“But—”

“Is it not the nooning hour?” Rosamunde whispered with exasperation, removing the hand she had been holding the foal's feet with to pat the mare's rump soothingly. The animal was becoming distressed by the tone of voice the abbess was using.

“This is an emergency. God will forgive our breaking silence during mealtime if 'tis an emergency,” Adela responded promptly.

“Aye, well, let us hope our mare does,” Rosamunde muttered, shifting swiftly out of the way as the horse began kicking its legs in a panicked attempt to regain its feet.

Sister Eustice moved at once, hurrying to the horse's head and grabbing it to hold the mare still. She murmured soothing coos at the frightened animal.

Worry almost overcame her, but Adela managed to contain herself as Rosamunde dropped back on to her knees at the rear of the reclining horse. Unlike Sister Eustice, who was garbed in the plain habit of a nun, the
girl was decked out in a stable boy's pants and overlarge top, its billowing sleeves rolled back to leave her arms bare. It was the costume the girl usually wore when working in the stables. Rosamunde felt it much more appropriate than a gown, and Adela, despite her better judgment, had done little to sway her from wearing the scandalous garb. She had always been fond of the girl, and there was no one of import around to disapprove anyway. However, she had already explained to the child that she would have to shed the stable-boy clothes for good—along with many other things—once she took the veil and became a nun.

Adela's thoughts fled, her face twisting into a half grimace, half wince as Rosamunde once again eased her hands into the horse, reaching to grasp its foal and try to ease its way into the world.

“Thank the good Lord's graces that your father, the king, is not here to see this,” Adela murmured, remembering to keep her voice calm. She did not wish to frighten the horse again.

“To see what?”

All three women stiffened at that deep baritone. Eustice's eyes widened in horror as she peered past the abbess toward the entrance to the stables. Her expression was enough to tell Adela that she had correctly recognized that voice. The Lord, it seemed, was not feeling particularly gracious today. The king
had
come to see what his daughter had gotten up to under her care.

Straightening her shoulders, Adela turned resignedly toward Henry, hardly noticing the men with him as she forced a smile of greeting to her face. “King Henry. Welcome.”

The monarch nodded at the abbess, but his attention was on his daughter. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a bright smile replacing the anxiety on her face.

“Papa!”

Henry started to smile, but ceased as he took in the
sight of her. “What the devil are you doing in the stables, girl? And all dressed up like a boy, too.” He glared at Adela. “Do I not pay you people enough to hire a stable boy? Do you spite me by putting my daughter to work with the animals?”

“Oh, Papa.” Rosamunde laughed, unconcerned by his apparent temper. “You know that it is my choice. We must all work at something—and I prefer the stables to scrubbing the convent floors.” The last of her statement was a distracted mutter. She turned back to what she was doing.

Henry's curiosity drew him forward. “What
are
you doing?”

Rosamunde glanced up, a scowl of anxiety on her face. “This mare has been in labor for more than a day now. She is losing strength. I fear she shall die if we do not help her along, but I cannot get the foal out.”

His brows drawn together, Henry peered at where her arms disappeared into the mare at the elbows. Horror covered his face. “Why, you—What—You—”

Sighing at his dismayed stammer, Rosamunde calmly explained. “The foal is backward. I am trying to turn it, but I cannot find its head.”

Henry's brows rose at that. “Will it not hurt the mare having you dig about inside her like that?”

“I do not know,” she said pragmatically, reaching farther into the animal. “But both mother and foal shall surely die if
something
is not done.”

“Aye…well…” Frowning at her back, Henry said, “Leave that for…er…” He peered toward the nun now moving back toward Rosamunde and the horse.

“Sister Eustice,” Lady Adela supplied helpfully.

“Aye. Sister Eustice. Leave it for the sister to deal with, daughter. I do not have long here and—”

“Oh, I could not do that, Papa. It would ruin the sleeves of Sister Eustice's gown. This will not take long, I am sure, and then—”

“I do not give a damn about the sister's sleeves,” Henry snapped, starting forward to drag her away bodily if need be, but a pleading glance from his daughter made him halt. She did so look like her mother. Henry had found it impossible to refuse the mother anything. Why should their daughter be different?

Sighing, he removed his cloak and handed it to Eustice, then shrugged out of his short surcoat and handed that over as well.

“Who taught you to do this?” he asked gruffly, bending to kneel beside her in the straw.

“No one,” she admitted, flashing him a smile that warmed his heart. It immediately made him let go of his impatience and anger. “It just seemed to be the thing to do when I saw the problem. She will die otherwise.”

Nodding, he shifted as close to her as he could get and reached his hands inside the mare to help. “It is the head you cannot find?”

Rosamunde nodded. “I have the rear legs, but I cannot––”

“Aha! I have it. It is caught on something.” He paused. “There we go.”

Rosamunde felt the back legs slip from her grip and shift away. She just managed to tug her hands free of the mare as her father turned the animal within its mother until its head was at the right angle.

“The mare is too weak. You will have to—” even as the words left her mouth, her father tugged on the foal's head and front legs. Seconds later it slid out onto the straw.

“Oh,” Rosamunde breathed, peering at the spindly-legged creature as it wriggled on the straw. “Is it not adorable?”

“Aye,” Henry agreed gruffly; then he cleared his throat, grabbed her arm, and urged her to her feet. “Come. Time is short. 'Sides, 'tis not fitting for a girl of your position to be participating in such things.”

“Oh, Papa.” Laughing, Rosamunde turned and threw herself into his arms as she had when she was a child.
Henry quickly closed his arms around her and gave up the reprimand as she knew he would.

 

“So that is the king's daughter.”

Aric shifted on his feet, his gaze leaving the girl the king was embracing to glance at his friend. “It would seem so.”

“She is lovely.”

“Quite,” Aric agreed quietly. “Unless my memory fails me, she appears a copy of the fair Rosamunde.”

“Your memory fails you not. She is an exact likeness of her mother,” Shrewsbury agreed. “Except for the hair. That is wholly her father's. Let us hope she did not inherit his quick temper along with it.”

“She has been raised right, my lord Bishop. With all discipline and goodness, and the disobedience worked out of her,” the abbess announced staunchly, glaring at Shrewsbury for the very suggestion that the girl might not have been. Then, seeming to regain herself, she forced a smile and in a much more pious tone murmured, “It is most gratifying that His Majesty received my message. We feared, when we heard that he was in Normandy, that he might not receive the news in time to make it back for the ceremony.”

Aric exchanged a glance with Robert, then asked carefully, “What ceremony?”

“What ceremony?” Adela echoed with amazement. “Why, Lady Rosamunde takes the veil tomorrow.”

There was silence for a moment after that announcement; then Robert murmured, “The king will no doubt be a bit surprised by that.”

“What!”
Henry's roar drew their attention.

“I believe he just learned,” Aric muttered. Turning, he found Henry a sight to see. The king's face bore a furious scowl and was so red as to seem almost purple. Even his hair seemed to have picked up some of the fire of his tem
per and shone more red than gray. He stormed angrily toward them, hands and teeth clenched.

His daughter was hard on his heels, a startled and somewhat bewildered expression on her face. “I thought you knew, Papa. I thought you had received my message and come to witness—” Her words came to an abrupt halt when her father paused in his stride and turned on her in a fury.

“It shall not happen! Do you hear me? You are not, I repeat,
not
going to be a nun.”

“But—”

“Your mother—God rest her soul—insisted on the same thing ere she died, and I could do naught about it. But I can and
will
do something now. I am your father, and I will not allow you to throw your life away by becoming a nun.”

Rosamunde looked briefly stunned at those words; then, seeing the stiff expression on the abbess's face at the insult in her father's words, she allowed her temper free rein. “It is not throwing my life away! 'Tis perfectly acceptable to become a bride of God! I—”

“Will God see you blessed with children?” Henry snarled, interrupting her curt words.

She looked taken aback briefly at that, then regained herself to snap, “Mayhap. He saw Mary blessed with Jesus.”

“
Jesus?”
For a moment it looked as though he might explode, or drop dead. His face was purple with rage.

It was the bishop who intervened, drawing the king's attention with the gentle words, “Your majesty, it is a great honor to become a bride of God. If Rosamunde truly has a calling, it is not well done to force her to—”

“You!”
Henry turned on the man. “I will not hear your religious drivel. Thanks to your dillydallying, we nearly did not arrive here in time. If I hadn't chanced to hear of Aric's broken betrothal and saved a day's riding by
choosing him as groom instead of Rosshuen, we would have been too late!” Whirling on the abbess, he roared, “Why was I not informed of these plans?”

The abbess blinked at him, taken aback. “We…I thought you knew, my liege. It was Rosamunde's mother's wish that she follow in her footsteps and become a nun. She said so on her deathbed. As you had not arranged a betrothal, I thought you agreed.”