Rivals for the Crown (6 page)

"But that's what I am, is it not? A bastard."

"No. A well-loved child."

"A love child, you mean. She hates men, Mother does. She hates them."

Grandmother sighed. "Aye. But there are good men as well as the liars. Listen to her, but temper your caution with wisdom of

your own, Isabel. There are few more wondrous things than a good man who loves you, child. Your grandfather loved me, and your mother. And he loved you. He was a good and faithful man. They do exist. I only wish he had lived to see you grown."

"What did he think of my father?"

"It was a good thing that Lonsby left London before your grandfather heard the news. But enough of Lonsby. Is it true that the Scots have asked King Edward to decide who will rule them?"

"That is what I've heard. There are thirteen competitors, including King Erik of Norway and even Edward."

"Thirteen! Why not a hundred? What foolishness this is." Grandmother shook her head in disgust. "The Scots will never agree among themselves. It will be their downfall, their inability to come together. It would be better if they simply recognized Edward as king and let the whole island be united under his rule. It would have happened eventually anyway when the Maid married Prince Edward. We all know the king would have been the real ruler until they were grown. And the world would be a better place for it, if you ask me. Look how much better off Wales is now that it is under the king's aegis. So, will the king go to Scotland? Will the queen?"

"I'm not sure. The parliament that he held in Nottinghamshire, at Clipstone, has concluded. I'm told that the king will stay in the north and that the queen will travel to meet him in Lincoln. Lincoln! Think of all I'll get to see!"

"Perhaps even Scotland, although why anyone would want to see Scotland is beyond me. Even the Romans knew there is nothing up there. But enough of Scotland. Tell me, what do you wear these days?"

Isabel laughed and told her grandmother about the
marvellous
new clothing she wore in her new position.

Her grandmother loaded a basket with fruit and treats for Isabel to take to her mother and sent a lad to accompany Isabel back to the river dock, where she would take one of the many ferries that ran passengers from the City to Westminster and beyond. A light rain was falling as Isabel gave the lad a coin, then paid the ferryman and stepped onto the boat. Her arms were around the basket, and when the wind lifted her hair into her face, she could not brush it aside.

"Careful, demoiselle," said a male voice. "Here, I'll assist you."

She felt her hand taken and tossed her hair out of her face. He was tall, the young man who held her hand, and dressed in the garb of one of the king's household knights. She thought she knew all the knights of the king's household, but she'd never seen this one before. She would have remembered him. His hair was brown, brushed back from an arresting face, dark brows over darker eyes, the shadow of a beard on his jaw. His cheekbones were sharp, his chin sharp as well. His smile was wide. French, she thought.

"Thank you, sir," she said crisply, stepping into the hull of the boat and withdrawing her hand from his.

She placed the basket next to her and folded her hands in her lap, looking across the river. The rain began to fall harder. Passengers around her began to pull hoods over their heads and grumble to each other, but the boat was not even half full and she knew they'd have a wait before the boat would leave.

She was wrong. The knight leaned to talk with the ferryman, and she saw coins exchanged, then the ferry pulled away from the dock. The knight settled on the bench, her basket between them, and gave her another smile.

"I did not think you would wish to wait for the rain to soak us all through."

"No."

She could think of nothing else to say and sat there like a fool. Had he really paid the boatman to leave at once? She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He gazed placidly out over the water as the boatman steered them into the center of the river. He must be one of the knights who had returned with King Edward from Gascony, where he had spent much time in the last few years, overseeing his French lands. He'd brought many knights back with him, granting them lands and titles. This man was younger than most, but his accent was unmistakable.

"You are one of the queen's ladies?" he asked, his tone mild.

"Yes," she said, surprised.

"You must be the new one."

"How did you know, sir?"

"It was not difficult to guess. Everyone in London knows the queen has a new attendant. You must become accustomed to being recognized. And approached to talk with the queen for people's causes and requests."

She'd been warned of that, that she would be asked to plead cases for others, and she knew ladies-in-waiting who had done just that. And been richly rewarded for it.

His smile was wide. And charming. Isabel ignored the echo of her mother's words. What harm could there be in being polite on their short voyage? The other passengers were watching them openly, some with obvious disapproval, some with apathy, a few with smiles.

"And you are, sir?"

"Henry de Boyer."

She gestured to his clothing. "Sir Henry de Boyer? One of the king's men?"

"Oui. I am. And your name, demoiselle lady-in-waiting?"

"I am Isabel de Burke."

"I am pleased to have met you, demoiselle."

"And I you, sir."

"Coming from a tryst with a lover?" he asked.

"No! I was visiting my grandmother."

They were silent for a moment.

"Are you?" she asked.

"Coming from a tryst with a lover?" He laughed. "I am. I am in love with this city. When I have time to myself, I roam the streets and learn every inch of her." He leaned closer. "She will soon have no secrets from me. I'll warrant I know her better than you do."

"I'll warrant you do not, sir. I have lived here all my life. I used to play on the very street where we caught this boat."

"Did you?" His smile was slow. "Last year?"

"I am not so young as that, sir."

"Ah, but you are, sweet Isabel de Burke. Innocence is shining from those lovely eyes of yours. In a few years you will be jaded and bored, but now you still have that fresh shine of youth. It is quite appealing."

She gave him a sidelong glance, unsure of what to say. He chuckled to himself, but he did not speak again. At the dock at Westminster he lifted her basket and carried it up the stairs from the river, reaching back for her hand, as though they had taken this journey together before. She let him assist her, then dropped his hand once they were on level ground.

"You are going to the palace?" he asked.

She nodded.

"As I am. I will escort you there."

They did not speak as they made their way through the crowd and past the guards, who nodded at them both. Once inside, Isabel shook the rain from her cloak and pushed her hood off, reaching for the basket. Henry handed it to her, bowed low, and gave her a smile as he strode away. She watched him until he rounded the corner, then smiled to herself. Henry de Boyer, king's knight.

There will be men...

"Oh, please! Surely you do not believe any of that?" Isabel laughed as she brushed her hair over her collar. "It's all rumor."

"
Rumours
can be true, you know," Lady Dickleburough said.

"That Langton is in league with the devil? That he murdered his mistress rather than paying her to leave him? Surely these are the inventions of fertile minds rather than truths."

"And surely you are very young."

"But he is the Steward of the Wardrobe, and a companion of the king's."

"Which must demonstrate his virtue, no? Look now, there they are," Lady Dickleburough said, leaning forward to watch the knights of Edward's household prepare to ride out. "Which one is this handsome knight you admire?"

Isabel leaned over the stone railing. "That one. See, he turns his head."

"To look at a woman. He told you he was coming from a tryst with a lover and you chose not to believe him. When a young man says such things, it gives you a window into his mind. I believe he had just left a lover. I have heard that he is the father of the child that the girl you replaced is carrying."

"And I have heard it was Bishop Langton," Isabel said.

"Which is why I told you the things said about him. You've not met Walter Langton yet, have you?"

"No."

"I am surprised. With all your mother's dealings with the queen's household I would have thought you had. No matter. Have you not seen him at least?"

"No."

"You will find him memorable. We all do."

Isabel turned to look at the older woman. In the daylight the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were highly visible. She was elaborately dressed for daytime, her girdle laden with jewels, her wimple made of the finest white silk. Most of the queen's ladies wore only the finest materials and jewels, but the styles were more subtle, for Edward's court was far from ostentatious. The king himself seemed not to notice what he wore, and his courtiers followed suit. Lady Dickleburough ignored the rules, wore what she chose, and somehow had managed to stay at court.

It was difficult to see in her now the woman everyone claimed she had been, a siren who'd lured men to her and kept their interest. And yet, there were moments, when Lady Dickleburough flirted with a younger man as though she, too, were young and attractive, when Isabel could imagine what she had been like in her youth. Alis.

The two were very alike. Alis was lovely and knew it. Everything from the sway of her hips—always more pronounced when there was a man around, whether a servant or a lord—was calculated to attract attention. The practiced moves she made, the pretty tilt of her head, the lilting laugh over a tired joke, the slow, curving smile that promised so much more—all were designed to make men watch her. No wonder the other ladies avoided her. They might have titles and excellent marriages, and be laden with gold and silver and jewels, but none of them had her youth or beauty.

"Langton will find you, Isabel. And you will decide."

"Decide what?"

Lady Dickleburough smiled. "There are many paths available to us here at court. Many men. A word of advice: if you give your
favour
s, make it be for something valuable in return." She fingered a ruby on one of her many rings. "Do not mistake how precious— and rare—virtue is at court. If you are trading it, bargain for the highest price. Henry de Boyer may tempt you. Certainly you are not alone in that. But is he the best recipient of your interest? Look for an older man, Isabel. Snare him before he even knows you are hunting. Get an offer of marriage, not simply an offer of an afternoon in a room in London."

"Are you instructing Isabel on life?" Alis asked as she joined them. She leaned to see the knights below. "Ah, look how they shine."

"Am I so ignorant that she could not learn from me?" Lady Dickleburough asked. "I do have some stories she might find interesting."

"Oh, yes, Isabel, she has stories enough to fill a treasure house. Listen carefully. You may hear some that sound familiar."

Isabel looked from Alis to Lady Dickleburough.

"She might learn something, dear Alis. I have a husband."

"And I, dear Lady Dickleburough, have a lover. Who I am off to meet."

Alis gave the knights one last look, then tossed her hair and left them. Isabel looked after her, then down at the knights. But she was too late. Henry was gone, ridden through the gate into the city of Westminster.

"Who is it?" Isabel asked. "Alis's lover. Do you know who he

is?"

Lady Dickleburough merely smiled.

It was a week before she saw him—a week filled with learning her new duties, part of which was accompanying the queen wherever and whenever she chose. And today she chose to ride through the streets of Westminster, then on to London, not far away. There had been a time, Isabel had been told, when the two cities had been separated by farmland, but those days were gone. They would ride through the crowded, narrow streets, which was why the king's knights would accompany them.

"Demoiselle! Are you ready to brave the world?"

Isabel recognized the cheerful voice at once. She smiled at Henry de Boyer. She had looked for him everywhere she'd gone, but had not seen him once. He was seated on a magnificent warhorse, bedecked with the king's colors and the royal crest. He wore a breastplate of shining metal and long gloves with chain mail that extended to his elbow. His helmet was cradled in the crook of his arm. His companions leaned to see who he was speaking with.

"May I present the queen's newest lady, good sirs? Demoiselle Isabel de Burke. We will be traveling with you today, my ladies, protecting your travel through London."

"My thanks, sir," she answered, echoing his light tone. "I feel safer already."

"No woman is ever safe around de Boyer," called one of the younger knights.

"I will keep that in mind," she said, laughing with them.