though a flush rode her cheekbones. The acceptance in the gray-green depths of her eyes made his heart throb against his breastbone. Turning back almost at once, he spoke in amplification of her thought. “Certain powers in Europe might be glad of such leverage, should they require allies in the conflict within the region.”
“Or it may simply be a matter of ransom,” the chancellor of England said, rubbing the extra chin that hung below his jaw.
Quiet fell in which could be heard the distant clanging of Angelus bells. Sunset was upon them. Though the long twilight of summer lingered beyond the tall windows of the room, it was dim inside the palace’s stone walls. A candle guttered on its wick, and Rand was abruptly aware of the scents of beeswax, perfume and sweat from Morton’s heavy ecclesiastical garments. He breathed with a shallow rise and fall of his chest as he waited for Henry’s pronouncement.
“We must not be hasty,” the king said at length. “We will send out men to search suitable properties where Mademoiselle Juliette may be held. If she is found, and the child with her…”
“I beg the privilege of joining the search,” Rand said, speaking past the relief that clogged his throat as Henry paused. “No one could have reason to look quite as hard or as long as I.”
“Your eagerness and promise of diligence do you credit, but it cannot be allowed.”
“I’ve given my pledge, and would not break it. Nor would I break faith with you, sire.”
“We are aware. Still, the matter is delicate. Say you are correct, and the lady is being held against her will. What is to prevent those who have her from ending her life the instant you are sighted? She would be dead to us and unable to uphold your story, while you would be conveniently at hand to take the blame. More, the rumor which came finally to us is rife at court, so we were forced to make the charge and bring you here for this inquiry. We have also heard whispers that you might be killed in ambush to prevent any denial of it. It is this last possibility that caused us to send so swiftly after Lady Isabel, instructing that you both be brought under our protection.” Henry shook his head. “No, you will remain near us, Sir Rand. Besides, it would be unseemly for a new-made husband to be seen searching high and low for a woman not his bride.”
“Sire!”
It was Isabel who exclaimed in protest, cutting across Rand’s immediate words of gratitude for Henry’s thoughtfulness. As the king turned his basilisk stare upon her, she lowered her lashes. “I did not mean to speak. Forgive me. It was the…the surprise.”
“Surprise, when you have known for some weeks that you will be Braesford’s wife?”
“This affair of the child,” she said softly, “everyone said… That is, we were told it was a hanging matter.”
“And so it may be if the lady is not found. Meanwhile, we have directed that you will be properly wed, and so it must transpire. Our fair queen consort looks forward to this day of celebration, of tournament, feasting, mummery and dancing, as the last merriment before she must leave us. She goes soon to her forty days of seclusion before birth, you realize, so there is no time for delay. Tomorrow will be auspicious for your vows, we believe.” He turned to the erstwhile bishop of Ely. “Is this not so, Chancellor?”
“Extremely auspicious, sire,” Morton said in instant agreement.
“But…but the banns, sire?”
“Banns may be waived under special circumstances, Lady Isabel. So it has been arranged. You will sign the marriage contracts when you leave here. All that will remain, then, is the ceremony.”
“As you command, sire,” she said with a small curtsy of acquiescence, adding under her breath, “though it’s all amazingly convenient.”
Rand thought only he was close enough to hear that last. He could not blame her for that instant of derision. If Henry had decided to dispense with banns, then there was certain to be strong political incentive for it.
What troubled Rand was what might lie behind the king’s determined preparation for this wedding. Sign of high favor or a screen for other things—which was it?
“Excellent,” Henry said with satisfaction. “Tomorrow it shall be, then.”
What could either of them say to that? Rand felt Isabel’s tense reluctance, and even shared it to some extent. He had thought to spare her the shame of being wed to a suspected murderer. How soon might she be his widow, therefore ripe for another of Henry’s arranged marriages? To command them to the altar now in fine disregard of the outcome was an unwarranted interference in their lives.
Regardless, watching as Isabel inclined her head and dropped into another stiff curtsy of obedience to the royal will, Rand was grateful to have the decision made for him. His own bow was a profound gesture of compliance. And it was all he could do to conceal the sudden firestorm of anticipation that blazed through him, body and soul, as he thought of the wedding night to come.
5
I sabel longed to voice her objections to this marriage as she stood beside Braesford, wished she could refuse Henry’s royal command outright. One did not defy a king, however, no matter how galling it might be to bow to his will.
She had been summoned specifically to hear his directive concerning her marriage, she thought. There could be no other reason for her presence. Unless, of course, the king wanted her to know the particulars of the crime lodged against Braesford? A bride should understand precisely why her groom was likely to be taken from her by the hangman.
The case seemed dire. Someone must have arranged for the Mademoiselle d’Amboise’s escort and forged the papers presented at Braesford. That person must necessarily have knowledge of the court, of Henry’s signature and seals. Well, or have influence with those who did.
That was supposing her future husband had not lied. They had only his word for what had happened. Some few among his men-at-arms might corroborate it, of course. Their loyalty was strong, as she’d noticed during their southward journey, making what they might say of him suspect.
As for the midwife and her suspicions, it was odd that such a piece of gossip had reached the king’s ears. It should not, ordinarily, have spread beyond the woman’s neighbors. More, by her own admission, the midwife had seen nothing truly damning, had only surmised foul play. Surely the king would have dismissed the matter out of hand at any other time.
Nonetheless, there was the disappearance of the Frenchwoman and her child. Where were they now, if they were alive and well? Yes, and why had this Mademoiselle Juliette not sent to inform the king of her whereabouts? It was always possible the lady thought he knew because Henry himself had arranged for her captivity. Prisoners did not normally send messages to their jailer begging for succor.
So many chances for betrayal. Isabel’s head hurt just thinking of them. She could see no clear way through them because she barely knew this man who was to be her husband.
She did not know him, yet they were to be tied together for all eternity.
The king’s mother stepped forward then, claiming Isabel’s attention, though she spoke to Rand. Removing her hands from inside the belled sleeves of her gown, she gestured toward a pair of bundles that sat beside the throne. “The king and I pray this matter that brings you before us will soon be settled, my good and faithful knight, and in a manner satisfactory to all,” she said in quiet precision.
