hundreds of years old, as if they must have been built when the Norman-French bastard had crossed the Channel to become England’s ruler.
Yet as they rode inside, Marc saw handsome buildings of freshly cut stone flanking the inner walls. This king was a builder, he thought, with grudging admiration, though he suspected French crowns had paid for most of it.
He had not expected a royal welcome, but the Lady Isabella herself received them graciously, as if the castle were solely hers. And Enguerrand greeted her as if he were the most honoured guest attending.
Marc gave his horse into the care of the stable master, then stood a safe distance from the couple, giving them time to exchange whispers and smiles. And when he looked around, he saw the countess wrapped in a mantle against the cold, watching them as well.
She shifted her weight and took a step, as if to interrupt their greeting. A sharp wind swept over the walls, sending her mantle flapping. He stepped in front of her, blocking her view, and tried to pull the edges close again.
She looked up, surprise parting her lips.
Tempting. The way her head balances on her neck...
Dark hair set off her fair skin and her square jaw drew his attention to her slender neck, now hidden by layers of wool.
Meeting her eyes again, he tugged the cloak closed and let his hands fall to his sides. He must be careful of his hands around the countess, careful they did not come too close, or be too bold. ‘Your island is the coldest place I have ever been.’
She shivered. ‘Truly, it is the worst winter I can remember. Frost came in September and has not left us since.’
‘So we agree on the miserable weather of Angleterre.’
She smiled. ‘Do you blame us for the cold?’
He wanted to blame them for everything, but standing this close to her, he was warmed by unwelcome desire. Mon Dieu. Did he not have obstacles enough?
Trying to speak, he had to clear his throat first. ‘Even a king cannot control what God sends.’
His words seemed to summon some private grief, but she quickly looked away, peering over his shoulder, trying to see what was going on behind his back. ‘You must move. I cannot see what are they doing.’
Instead of giving her clear sight, he moved to block her view. This was why he had come. Not to help her, but to keep her at a distance. ‘You cannot make your intentions so plain.’
She sighed. ‘I know, but the princess—’
‘Cecily!’ And there was her voice. ‘Attend!’
‘Come,’ she said and he let her turn him to see. ‘The princess herself is taking you to your quarters.’
Cecily walked quickly, no doubt intending to catch up with the couple and interrupt their private conversation. Marc deliberately slowed his stride, so that when she turned to see where he was, Enguerrand and Isabella pulled ahead, disappearing inside the great tower in the centre of the castle grounds.
Lady Cecily was forced to wait for him at the door.
Together, they stepped inside the stone gatehouse, blessedly away from the cold wind, and started up a long, enclosed stairway, climbing steeply up the mound to the tower. The walls sheltered him from the wind, but they also felt as close as his prison in London.
‘Are you taking us to guest quarters or to gaol?’
‘If it were not for me, you would still be in the Tower of London. These were the royal quarters until recently. You should be honoured.’
‘You are always telling me I should feel honoured at things that honour me not at all.’
Ahead of them, out of earshot, the princess and Enguerrand had their heads together. Then, a feminine laugh echoed off the stone walls.
His friend was having success already. He could see why the Lady Cecily might be worried. But he was there to keep her occupied so that Enguerrand would be free to win the princess’s support for regaining his lands. At the same time, he must make her think he was working with her to keep them apart.
He sighed, wishing instead to be leading a battle against an enemy of overwhelming force. It would be simpler.
He put a hand on her arm to slow her. As in battle, he must delay the enemy’s arrival to give Enguerrand as much time to advance as possible.
She frowned. ‘We are falling behind.’
Unfortunately, he could not take the forthright approach and physically hold her back. He must be subtle.
And Marc de Marcel was not a subtle man.
‘We cannot simply force them apart,’ he said. ‘We need a plan, just as if we were in a battle.’
She frowned again. ‘The plan is for you to keep your friend away from the Lady Isabella. That is why I brought you here.’
He gritted his teeth, wishing that he was back in London. ‘In order to do that, I must know something about her.’
Still watching the couple mounting the stairs far above them, she sighed, exasperated. ‘She is the king’s oldest and favourite daughter, generous and loving to her friends and family and to the poor. She enjoys all manner of entertainment and gaiety.’
The princess sounded no different from any other noble man or woman he had known. ‘Why is she not yet wed?’ He had not wondered at it before, but now that he did, the question was baffling. He was not a man privy to the plots of kings, but such a woman would be an important chess piece. The right marriage, to the right ruler, could have secured an unbreakable alliance. From what he knew of Edward, he was not a man to let such an advantage go unclaimed.
Cecily slowed her steps and dropped her voice. ‘There were many suggested. I don’t even know them all. And finally, there was a Gascon noble she wanted to marry.’
‘She chose her own husband?’
She nodded.
He looked back up the stairs. Enguerrand and the Lady Isabella were no longer in sight. ‘I did not know she was a widow.’ That could change many things. A woman who had already known a man’s touch...
‘She isn’t. The king consented and all the arrangements were made, but when she went to board the ships, she...could not.’
‘She refused?’ He could not comprehend such a thing. The court of le roi Anglais was truly a strange place. ‘The king allowed that?’
‘The man had been her choice. So her father allowed her to change her mind.’ A rueful smile touched her lips. ‘The Lady Isabella is accustomed to getting her way in all things. No one tells her no.’
‘Not even the king?’ He knew little of women, but in his experience, they did as they were told. Perhaps les femmes Anglaise were different.
She shook her head. ‘She has a loving father and mother. They have given her everything she needed. Or wanted.’ Her
