What the Duchess Wants. Terri Brisbin

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      Later that night, after sending the women away and discussing the day with her trusted advisor, Eleanor decided to enter into private communications with the Angevins. She believed she could aid them in moving across this quagmire safely and they could, in return, be the very thing she sought—someone, a nobleman, strong enough to offer a soon-to-be divorced queen sanctuary.…

      Or something more than sanctuary…

      A future that would see Aquitaine and Poitou joined to Normandy and Anjou in an alliance stronger than either thought possible.

      More than that, the possibility that teased her far into the night and into the next days, weeks and months was one of finding a husband worthy of her and all she had to offer.

      Could Henry Fitz-Empress be that man?

      Chapter One

      City of Poitiers, Duchy of Aquitaine, spring 1152 AD

      ‘Why do I feel as though I am simply moving between prisons?’ Eleanor twisted the edge of her sleeve between her fingers and glanced over at the man before her. Luckily, the fabric was already pleated so her rough handling of it did not make it look worse for it.

      Godfroi had been the commander of her personal guard for years and had remained behind in Aquitaine during most of her marriage to Louis, defending her home and her lands. At least, he had until she’d needed him these past difficult years. Now, she entrusted him with the most delicate of tasks—negotiating the possibility of marrying the Duke of Normandy.

      ‘Perhaps because you are?’ he replied, his droll and sometimes bold sense of humour apparent even in this serious situation. ‘But then does a queen truly expect her life to be otherwise?’

      Eleanor sighed, looking away from his astute gaze. Duchess or queen, the expectations of others guided and ruled her life. Born from bloodlines that could trace back to Charlemagne, duty had been the first word she’d learned and would be the last concern when her life ended. These doubts, voiced to someone she trusted with her life, were only momentary lapses in the musings of an otherwise confident woman.

      ‘Tell me your impressions of him, Godfroi. Not what everyone at court said. Not the ones I gathered from our brief encounter and those few missives between us in Paris last year. Tell me what you have learned of the man I would have as husband and lord.’

      ‘He is very different from Louis.’

      She laughed then and turned to face him. ‘There are not many men who are like Louis.’ Eleanor searched Godfroi’s face to see if he had been being sarcastic or serious. ‘My first husband would have been more content in a monastery than in his palaces. He could have spent every moment in prayer and would not have had a wife who placed the demands of the flesh on him. How is this Angevin different from that?’

      ’Twas the root of the whole matter when she considered it.

      Her marriage to Louis Capet had been for dynastic reasons and power and had brought together her properties with his, creating a kingdom that was double in size to his lands alone. She’d brought wealth and titles to the match and a body ready to produce heirs. Unfortunately, daughters were all they’d created between them, along with scandal, war and discontent. Meeting up with her vibrant uncle during the crusade to the Holy Land had made her think again of all that she’d given up to live as Louis’s wife and to suffer from the scorn and diatribes of all his counsellors and bishops. Ultimately, it had been her daughters, now under his custody and control, who were the key to her freedom and her annulment.

      ‘He is filled with a breathless and ruthless enthusiasm for life. Henry could never be controlled by the church or others. His life spent waiting for the crown of England has been spent in honing his skills as a warrior and a king. And I suspect that you will not have to force him into demands of the flesh.’

      Only Godfroi could say such things without being impudent, but his words answered her concerns about things of a personal nature. Eleanor was exhausted by the constant demands of Louis’s ministers and his church cronies, and though the worst had passed away, others had not relented in their condemnation of her and anything and everything she did or said. They’d even blamed her for the debacle in the Holy Land!

      ‘Truly?’ she asked, waiting to see if she could bring the hint of a blush to this imperturbable man. Eleanor realised that there were repercussions to that kind of husband as well. The heat of a blush entered her own cheeks and surprised her. She’d lived a full life and was a mature woman of thirty years and she thought more worldly than a blushing maiden approaching her first marriage bed.

      ‘Just so, Your Grace,’ Godfroi replied, tipping his head to her.

      ‘I would meet with him before I agree to this match,’ she said.

      ‘That could be difficult now. His brother and others so lately seeking your hand as well.’ They’d attempted to kidnap her so that she’d had no other choice was a better description of the matter. Henry’s brother, Geoffrey the Younger, had ambushed her just before she’d reached Blois, then Thibault of that city had chased into her own city of Poitiers. She may no longer be Queen of France, but she would not accept second-born sons much lower than she was in status, name or wealth to husband!

      ‘Make it so, Godfroi. I have only met the man in the presence of others. I would assess him in privacy and speak with him candidly without others to hear the conversation.’

      If Godfroi thought it was a mistake, he did not say. He simply bowed to her and left to make it happen. Such was his way. She knew he would keep her best interests in mind while negotiating this new marriage, just as she did not doubt Henry would impress her as much in a private discussion as he had when he appeared with his father before Louis demanding to be invested as Duke of Normandy. For once in her life, she held the reins in her hands. For once, she would exercise control not afforded to most women in this world.

      For once, Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and former Queen of France, would make her own decision.

      Henry paced.

      When the son of Empress Matilda and her second husband wanted something and it did not come to hand, he paced. Henry had waited and fought for the English crown and it yet remained out of his grasp. Now, he wanted Eleanor and all she brought and she sent her warrior instead.

      ‘She said what?’ he demanded, not believing the words spoken by the man playing messenger to a seemingly reluctant woman.

      ‘The queen—’

      ‘No longer.’

      ‘The duchess would like to continue the negotiations in person.’

      He roared out his anger and frustration, effectively clearing the chamber of all who would take cover from him at times like this. More effective sometimes than a mild request, he used it when needed. Times like this when he did not wish to appear too conciliatory or needy, or when there were issues to discuss that were better done without an audience.

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