Medieval Brides. Anne Herries

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      The queen’s guard turned to open the door to the solar and Walter bowed to her and stepped away. Into the lion’s den, she walked, without the one protector she trusted. The one who had been sent away the night that…

      Taking a deep breath and pulling her pride around her once more, Emalie walked in to face the queen. Surprised to find Eleanor alone, Emalie closed the door behind and approached her godmother.

      “If my memory serves me well, you will find him quite fair of face and his build is that of a practiced warrior. His family has held Chateau d’Azure in Poitou for generations,” Eleanor began. The queen stood by the window, staring out and not looking at her as she spoke. Her words were confusing to Emalie. The queen spoke of someone unknown to her, but the tone loosed tiny shivers of foreboding that crept down Emalie’s spine.

      “Of whom do you speak, Your Grace?” She heard the tremble in her own voice as the words passed her lips.

      “Christian Dumont, the Count of Langier. The son of one of my dearest cousins. And your betrothed husband.”

      Emalie could not take a breath. Fire burned within her eyes and throat and chest as the queen’s words sank into her mind. She had thought herself safe. She that thought John’s departure placed her back in control of Greystone. She had thought she was safe from marriage.

      Betrothed to Christian Dumont? How could this be? Eleanor had said not one word of her plans and Emalie had had no warning of this turn of events before the queen’s softly spoken declaration.

      “Your Grace, I do not wish to marry. As I told your son, there is no reason for it.” Emalie forced herself to maintain control as she tried to talk her way out of this predicament.

      “Emalie, please come and sit with me here. We have matters to discuss.”

      Eleanor seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs and waited. Unable to postpone the inevitable, Emalie followed the order and sat next to the queen. When she had gathered her calm once more, she looked at Eleanor.

      “I have been married to two kings and birthed at least one more,” Eleanor began. The queen’s gaze rested on her squarely, and Emalie fought to return it in just the same direct manner. “I have plotted and planned and held a kingdom together these last years. I know my sons and all that they are capable of. One thing I am not is ignorant of the ways of men of power.”

      The tone of Eleanor’s voice struck a warning note to Emalie and she waited for the coming truth.

      “I have ways of finding information and determining the truth in situations that my sons can not even begin to imagine, and I think you already know what I have discovered here in Greystone Castle.”

      Emalie searched for something to say, some way to divert the queen from this course. She had no chance.

      “William DeSeverin has indeed had carnal knowledge of you, as my son planned. Your virginity and your honor are lost.”

      Emalie could feel the blood rush away from her face. Her hands trembled and her stomach clenched in reaction to the words of her damnation. So her secret was hers no longer. Emalie wondered who could have been the weak link in her household. ’Twas of no matter now.

      “Only marriage can save you, Emalie. And a marriage done quickly and quietly may be the only way to save your name and your life.” When Emalie would have argued, Eleanor delivered the telling blow. “And your people.”

      Emalie closed her eyes in defeat. She and her father had planned carefully to protect their people from John’s rapacious greed, during the time when Richard was away on Crusade, then held for ransom. Their efforts saw their people healthy and hearty where other keeps were decimated. And when the death of her mother had caused her father to lose his dedication, Emalie had carried on their efforts.

      In return, her people would protect her. John had been unsuccessful at breaching their defense of her. Her servants and villagers had steadfastly backed her word in the matter of William DeSeverin. And at great risk to themselves, if they all failed in this plan to prevent John’s machinations to gain control over Greystone and its lady.

      “How did you discover the truth?” Emalie asked, no longer even attempting to deny Eleanor’s words.

      Eleanor waved her hand and Emalie knew she was not to learn the queen’s methods. “How is not important, my dear. Know you that I have, and that I now know the true danger you are in by remaining here. DeSeverin has made another attempt to meet with you, has he not? And with this attractive holding taunting John to commit further sins to gain control of it, it is only a matter of time before he, they, act once more.”

      “And you propose that I marry this Christian Dumont?” Emalie whispered, unable to deny William’s failed try at another visit. She thought she’d been successful in hiding that from the queen. Apparently not.

      Eleanor straightened in her chair, her face taking on a regal countenance once more. “I do not propose this. As an emissary of the king, I am in a position to order it.”

      Eleanor reached to a nearby table and lifted several parchments. As she held them out to Emalie, Emalie could see her gaze soften. Emalie’s hand shook even more as she took hold of the papers that would change her life. Although she possessed the skills, it was the tears in her eyes that prevented her from reading the finely scrolled Latin writing before her. Blinking to clear them away did not work. A moment later, a handkerchief was pushed into her grasp.

      “The Count of Langier is renowned for his prowess on the battlefield and in the tournaments. His blood is as noble as your own and he carries several minor titles as well. He comes to you without the need for funds as some husbands would, Countess.”

      Eleanor’s words caused more questions to form in her thoughts. Something was missing, something about this prospective, nay, ordered, betrothed of hers.

      “I hear these many good things you say about the count, Your Grace. I can also hear in your words and phrasing that there is more you do not say. Pray, continue and tell me the rest of it so there would be no surprises.”

      Emalie dabbed her eyes once more and tucked the linen square into the cuff of her sleeve. She wondered what would make this supposedly excellent specimen of Pontevin manhood drag himself across the Channel and lower himself to marry an Englishwoman, even a noble one with a rich estate to offer. She had met others from the French provinces of the Plantagenets and had recognized the inherent snobbery and arrogance they harbored when comparing themselves to the Plantagenet’s English kingdom.

      Eleanor did not answer, but instead rose from her chair and walked slowly across the solar toward the door. Emalie rose, as well, for one could not remain seated when a queen did not. She clasped her hands, trying to stop their trembling and took several deep breaths, trying to stop the panic that threatened to overpower her.

      Stopping a pace before reaching the door, Eleanor turned back to face her. Her godmother smiled at her, and a genuine expression of concern filled her face as she finally responded to Emalie’s question.

      “No, I think not. We all have our own secrets that we bring to a marriage. He has his,” Eleanor said quietly. “And you have yours. It will be up to both of you to come to some accommodations within your marriage.”

      Eleanor tugged on the knob and pulled the door open. She raised her voice so that all those waiting in the hall could hear her words.

      “Emalie, СКАЧАТЬ