The Damsel's Defiance. Meriel Fuller

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СКАЧАТЬ than staring at him, waiting for him to…to leave us?’

      Robert crossed the wide elm boards to reach her, to take her shoulders. Under his fingers he felt her anxiety as she crossed her arms defensively over her chest. He knew the ambition she harboured, the ambition, above all else, to be Queen of her own country. She had an infinite sense of what she felt to be right and would not tolerate easily those who contradicted her.

      Maud stared at the still figure in the bed, tracing the familiar lines of her father’s face. Despite his ruthless ambition, he had been a good father to her, teaching all he could about the affairs of the land. His instruction had increased significantly on the accidental death of her brother, William, his only legitimate male heir. From that day on, he vowed his daughter Maud would inherit his realm on his death.

      She gazed at the taut panels of white skin that pulled over the bones of his face. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t see their colour from where she stood, but knew them to be a deep hazel, flecked with green. Eyes that had laughed with her, eyes that had cried with her. His lips were narrow, a bluish colour. She listened for the faint whistle of breath, a rasp of air. Nothing. She raised her hands to cover her face. If she didn’t see her father dead, then it might not be real.

      ‘He’s gone, Robert. He’s gone. Look, he breathes not.’ Almost as if she couldn’t bear the reality, she drifted toward the arrow slit window, wrapping her arms even more tightly around her torso. Robert moved over to bed, crossed himself, before closing his father’s eyes with gentle tapered fingers.

      The iron latch clicked softly on the oak door, and Hugh, Archbishop of Rouen and the King’s confidant, entered.

      ‘Good timing,’ Robert muttered wryly. ‘You should have been here.’

      Hugh walked over to the bed and looked down at the waxy mask of his sovereign. ‘May he rest in peace.’

      ‘You’re a bit late to take his last confession, my lord,’ Robert said, careful to keep any criticism from his voice.

      ‘I have already heard his confession, Earl Robert,’ Hugh announced, a hint of pomposity edging into his tone. His eyes were bright in a pillow of flesh. ‘And in case you’re wondering, I have already granted him absolution and extreme unction. He was ready to go, God rest his soul.’

      Maud turned from the window, brown eyes questioning. ‘My lord, did my father say anything about…?’

      ‘About?’ Hugh looked puzzled.

      ‘About my becoming Queen, my lord Archbishop. Surely he said something about it to you?’

      Hugh was already shaking his head. ‘Nay, my lady. He did not say anything to that effect, only that he wanted to be buried in Reading Cathedral alongside your mother. But then it was difficult for him to speak.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ Maud’s voice heightened to a squeak. She moved toward the portly Archbishop, eyes alight with suspicion. Hugh held his ground.

      ‘Aye, my lady. I am quite sure. I have sat with your father this morn, while you changed, and heard everything he had to say. He said nothing about his successor. I assumed it would be Stephen.’

      Maud hissed, a sharp intake of breath. ‘Nay, you could not be more wrong, my Lord. My cousin Stephen, Count of Blois? He couldn’t possibly be King.’

      ‘He is, was, your father’s favourite nephew. You and he were like brother and sister when you were growing up.’

      Maud shook her head, bearing down on Hugh like a terrier. The Archbishop took a step back. ‘But I am the rightful heir, my lord Archbishop. Everyone in England knows that. God in Heaven, everyone in England has sworn to that!’

      ‘It would be unusual for the English nobility to accept a woman as Queen…’ the Archbishop rubbed his chin thoughtfully ‘…especially considering your marriage to the Count of Anjou.’

      ‘What has my marriage got to do with it?’ snapped Maud.

      ‘Anjou has always been an enemy of England and Normandy. Let’s face it, your father and your husband have not been on speaking terms recently.’

      ‘A minor issue, my lord. My father arranged my marriage to Geoffrey in the first place, seeking to achieve peace between Normandy and Anjou.’

      ‘And to some extent he has succeeded,’ Hugh agreed. ‘But I can’t see the English barons accepting an Angevin count on the throne of England.’

      ‘He won’t be on the throne. I will!’ Maud’s colour heightened in anger. ‘Praise Mary, am I to spend my day surrounded by fools?’

      Robert stepped forward. ‘Hugh, I really think that—’

      ‘Don’t interfere, Robert, I am dealing with this!’ Maud shoved her rounded body in front of her half-brother. ‘Listen, my lord Archbishop—’ she jabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger ‘—contrary to what you know, or what you think you know, I am to be Queen of England and Normandy. My father wanted it, and he made sure all his barons and bishops knew it. And I don’t want anyone to hear of his death until I arrive in England with my father’s body. Do you understand?’

      Hugh nodded, the folds of his double chin quivering. ‘I understand completely, my lady.’ He threw a sideways look at Robert, before addressing Maud once more. ‘Er, may I sit with your father until your ladies come?’

      ‘Granted. Robert will make sure you have everything you need.’ A thin wail reached her ears; Maud grimaced in irritation. ‘I suppose I’d better see how the children are faring.’ She sighed, turning to Robert. ‘And you’d better secure us a passage to England. As soon as possible.’

      Beyond the granite town walls of Barfleur, beyond the marshlands, the forest spread out for miles and miles, a thick green cloak of vegetation, rising high over jagged granite outcrops only to plunge low into the deep valleys cut by fast-flowing rivers. Through the towering beeches and spreading oaks, their bare branches starkly delineated against the grey, lowering sky, Emmeline’s horse picked its way along a narrow, muddy trail alongside the River Argon.

      She rode steadily, relaxing her body into the calm, rocking gait of her roan mare, her strong, delicate fingers controlling the reins with confidence. Despite her obvious unhappiness at Emmeline’s journey, Felice had known better than to try and dissuade her from approaching the Empress; she had encountered her daughter’s stubborn nature on too many occasions to know that she would persuade her otherwise. But her father, Anselm, God rest his soul, would have approved, of that Emmeline was certain. He had always been a man of action, never sitting around passively, waiting for things to happen. Ducking her head to avoid a low-hanging branch, she smiled softly to herself, knowing full well that he would not have endorsed her travelling alone. A shuddering breath took her by surprise; after all these years she still missed his steadying presence, his gentle teaching: a calming contrast to her more nervous, excitable mother.

      As she rode, lulled by the persistent rushing of the river to her left, dark, rain-filled clouds began to fill the sky, dimming the forest beneath. Glancing up apprehensively, she kicked her heels into the warm flanks of the mare; she had no intention of being soaked to the skin. And then, as the wind grew stronger, against the frantic creaking of the bare branches above her head, she heard another sound. Jerking on the reins, she tipped her head to one side, trying to locate the noise. A chink of metal carried on the sharp breeze, the distinctive click of СКАЧАТЬ