The Marriage Priza

by Virginia Henley

  Few writers can rival the sheer storytelling mastery of New York Times bestselling author Virginia Henley. Brimming with sensual tension, humor, and narrative power, Henley's award-winning novels have enchanted readers worldwide. Now in The Marriage Prize—the third novel in her Plantagenet trilogy, which began with The Falcon and the Flower and continued in The Dragon and the Jewel—this incomparable storyteller returns to medieval England and brings to life a love story so passionate it will take your breath away. Orphaned at a young age, Rosamond Marshal is a royal ward of Eleanor de Montfort, sister of King Henry III and wife of the renowned warlord Simon de Montfort. Unger the worldly countess's tutelage, Rosamond learns not only the skills of a chatelaine, but how to wield her female power by dressing exquisitely, conversing wittily, and charming men mercilessly. As she reaches young womanhood, the beautiful heiress is fearful of leaving the security of the de Montfort household and fulfilling her betrothal to the powerful bachelor knight Rodger de Leyburn. Just as Rodger devilishly outmaneuvers Rosamond's strategems to break their betrothal, Prince Edward will accept none of Rosamond's excuses to forestall her marriage. For the prince is determined to reward Rodger, his dearest friend, with a wealthy, noble wife.

  Slowly Rodger woos Rosamond, convincing her that his love extends beyond her estates and her wealth. But no sooner does Rosamond become Rodger's wife and experience all the exquisite ways a man can love a woman than she finds herself and her husband on opposite sides of a bloody civil war. For Rodger is fighting alongside Prince Edward and the king to quell the barons' rebellion, led by none other than Rosamond's beloved guardian, Simon de Montfort.

  Delacorte Press, division of Random House, Inc

  Copyright 2000

  PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  Rosamond Marshal Niece of the late William Marshal, first

  (fictional) husband of Princess Eleanor Plantagenet

  Sir Rodger de Leyburn Royal Steward to Prince Edward Plantagenet

  Prince Edward Plantagenet Known as Lord Edward; heir of

  King Henry III

  Princess Eleanora of Castile Wife of Prince Edward Plantagenet

  Simon de Montfort Known as the Great Warlord; second

  Earl of Leicester husband of Princess Eleanor; chosen leader of England's barons

  Eleanor de Montfort Born Princess Eleanor Plantagenet; sister

  Countess of Leicester of King Henry III and Richard of Cornwall

  Demoiselle de Montfort Daughter of Eleanor and Simon de Montfort

  King Henry III Plantagenet King of England

  Queen Eleanor of Provence Queen of England (wife of Henry III)

  Richard of Cornwall Brother of King Henry III and

  Princess Eleanor (de Montfort)

  Harry of Almaine Son of Richard of Cornwall and the late

  Isabella Marshal; half-brother of Richard de Clare

  Richard de Clare Earl of Gloucester; England's leading peer;

  half-brother of Harry of Almaine

  Gilbert de Clare Known as Gilbert the Red;

  son of Richard de Clare

  Alyce de Clare Wife of Gilbert de Clare;

  daughter of Guy de Lusignan, half-brother of King Henry

  Roger Bigod Earl of Norfolk, Marshal of England

  Humphrey de Bohun Chief Justiciar of England

  Prologue

  Kenilworth Castle, Warwickshire May 1253

  Twelve-year-old Rosamond Marshal clung to Eleanor de Mont-fort's hand as her guardian led her into Kenilworth's library. The young girl was dressed in a plain gray mourning gown, and her face was as pale as the linen head-cloth that covered her fair hair. Her eyes appeared to be too large for her small face, and she looked at the people in the room as if she did not really see them. Rosamond was in shock. Three days ago, her brother Giles, who had been all of fourteen years of age, had been killed in a jousting accident.

  When Rosamond felt Lady Eleanor squeeze her hand, she sank into a curtsy before King Henry, who was her royal guardian's brother. Lady Eleanor's husband, Simon de Montfort, was standing beside the king, and Prince Edward, the fifteen-year-old heir to the throne, waited to one side with his friend Rodger de Leyburn.

  The official document that would betroth Lady Rosamond Marshal to Sir Rodger de Leyburn lay on the oak table awaiting only the signatures of those present in Kenilworth's library. Lady Eleanor picked up the quill pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and handed it to Rosamond. "Sign here, my dear."

  Without even glancing at the youth to whom they were betrothing her, the royal ward took the pen and signed the document as if she were in a trance. She had withdrawn to a place deep inside of herself in order to escape the unbearable pain caused by her brother's death. Because the young heiress was now alone in the world, everyone had thought it best to betroth her to a suitable husband. Rosamond went through the motions of the betrothal, accepting her guardians' decision without question.

  Prince Edward nudged his friend's shoulder, and Rodger de Leyburn

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  stepped up to the oak table and added his bold signature to the betrothal document. He was darkly attractive and his green eyes held a serious look that befitted the solemn occasion. De Leyburn's manner showed that he was perfectly willing to betroth Rosamond Marshal, yet he did not appear to be eager. Then the long, the prince, and the de Montforts affixed their signatures to make it official. Lady Eleanor and Rosamond were the first to leave, and when the library door closed behind them, Edward turned to his friend and said, "Rodger, you won't regret this; Rosamond Marshal is a great marriage prize."

  The young heiress most certainly was a sought-after prize. King Henry had wanted Rosamond for his foreign half-brother's son, Geoffrey of Valence. But Simon de Montfort had told the king bluntly that the barons would be up in arms if one more English heiress was given to a foreigner. Simon had made it plain that the barons were sick and tired of their king squandering money, land, and castles on his foreign relatives. So Henry had grudgingly allowed his son Edward to choose Rosamond Marshal's future husband.

  For the next five years, King Henry willfully ignored the growing anger of the barons. He appointed foreigners to high office and called Parliament only when he was in dire straits for money, making promises he had no intention of keeping. Finally, the barons had had enough. Choosing Simon de Montfort as their leader, they issued King Henry an ultimatum: Either he transferred the authority to govern to a council of leading English peers, or there would be civil war.

  King Henry immediately turned submissive and signed the Provisions of Oxford, which laid out the barons' demands. The king's half-brothers, who had been living in luxury, fled back to the Continent, and the barons believed they had saved England from ruin. Flush with their victory at Oxford, the Marcher barons left to subdue an uprising in Wales. Prince Edward, now twenty and newly returned from Gascony, joined the campaign, and Henry of England took himself across the Channel to sign a treaty with Louis of France over disputed provinces. But at the first opportunity, Henry intended to take a major step toward reasserting his authority at home—he would ask the Pope to absolve him from his oath to uphold the Provisions of Oxford. He would show the barons who ruled England. The king, and the king alone!

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  One

  Kenilworth Castle November 1258

  A wave of stark terror swept over Rosamond Marshal, snatching her breath away. She began to run the moment she saw the dark horse and rider, knowing instinctively they would pursue her. Relentlessly! The rider was faceless. All she knew was that he was dark, but it was the horse she feared most. It was huge, black, and terrifying.

  An icy shiver slithered down her spine. Her pale golden hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders as she pulled her skirts high, baring lon
g, slim legs, in a desperate attempt to escape being trampled by the cruel hooves. Her lungs felt as if they would burst as she gasped for just one more breath that would carry her to safety. Her pulse hammered inside her eardrums, deafening her as she turned to look over her shoulder. Rosamond's eyes widened in horror and a scream was torn from her throat as she saw the black forelegs rise above her, then helplessly she tumbled beneath the murderous hooves.

  Rosamond's eyes flew open. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. She was lying in her bed, her hair a wild tangle, her night rail twisted about her body so that her long legs were bared. Heaving a ragged sigh of relief, she sat up.

  "Whatever is amiss, Rosamond?" Demoiselle de Montfort asked, throwing back her covers and padding barefoot across the spacious bedchamber they shared at Kenilworth Castle.

  Rosamond tossed back her hair in a gesture of dismissal to reassure her young friend. "It was nothing, Demi."

  "But you screamed," the young, dark-haired girl insisted. "Was it the old nightmare come back to haunt you?"

  "No, of course not," Rosamond said. She was seventeen, almost three years older than the Demoiselle, as everyone affectionately called

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  VIRGINIA HENLEY

  young Eleanor de Montfort. The unusual nickname had been given to her by a French nursemaid because mother and daughter had the same name. Rosamond was determined not to alarm her friend. She laughed with bravado. "It would take more than a bad dream to frighten me."

  "Could we have a light?" The Demoiselle had always been afraid of total darkness, which was why Rosamond shared her chamber, high in the Lady Tower.

  "I'm so sorry I disturbed you, Demi." She lit the square, scented candle in its metal stand and tucked the Demoiselle back into bed. Back in her own bed, Rosamond offered a silent prayer of thanks that she was safe and secure at Kenilworth. Located in the midland county of Warwickshire, eighty miles from London, the castle was her haven, her refuge, where she felt protected from the harsh world. Rosamond watched the shadows flicker upon the wall. She hadn't had the trampling dream in a long time and had hoped she was free of it, but apparently she was not completely free. Though Rosamond knew what caused it, she never spoke of it anymore.

  Because her parents had both died while she and her brother Giles were children, they had become royal wards. Since Giles was the same age as Prince Edward Plantagenet, he had joined the prince's household, becoming one of a dozen noble youths who were Edward's companions. Rosamond, however, had joined the household of the king's sister, Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, because Rosamond was the niece of the late William Marshal, who had been Princess Eleanor's first husband.

  The brother and sister had seen each other often because Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, was Prince Edward's godfather, and the young noblemen received their military training from the great warlord, reputed to be the ablest warrior in Christendom. By the time he was fifteen, Lord Edward, as the heir to the throne was called, had towered head and shoulders over the other men of the court. His companions were all high-spirited youths, guilty of excesses. Some of them were his cousins from Provence and Lusignan, who thought themselves above curbs and restraints.

  Though King Henry had forbidden them to joust, Lord Edward and his companions had ridden over to Ware to take part in a tourna-

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  THE MARRIAGE PRIZE

  ment. That was the fateful day that Giles Marshal had lost his life in a jousting accident. Because Rosamond was only twelve at the time, the gory details had been kept from her, but she had heard whispers of the half-wild charger that had trampled his body. At first the nightmares had come every night, but with time, they had become less frequent, and she had been free of them for almost two years.

  Rosamond remembered the months following the accident, how everyone had been kind to her. Giles's companions, led by Lord Edward, had been soberly contrite and extremely solicitous. Because she was all alone in the world, several had sought her hand in marriage, and at Lord Edward's insistence she had been betrothed to his dearest friend, Rodger de Leyburn, who held the coveted post of royal steward in the prince's household. Yet Rosamond could not help feeling a secret resentment toward Edward and his high-spirited companions.

  Rosamond sighed. It had happened five years ago, yet still she thought of the prince and his friends as arrogant, lawless, spoiled young devils! And it was true. They had all been wild and courted trouble with a vengeance. She thought of the Demoiselle's older brothers, Henry and Simon de Montfort, who had been Lord Edward's first companions. They were no different. All they thought of were weapons and horses and tumbling the maidservants.

  Her thoughts inevitably drifted to a more worthy knight, Sir Rickard de Burgh. He was the son of the wealthy and noble Falcon de Burgh, Lord of Connaught. Sir Rickard was a twin, and reputed to possess the mystic gift of seeing into the future. He was a mature man of middle years, not a dissolute youth, but maturity only enhanced his rugged good looks. His thick black hair had a distinguished touch of gray at the temples, and his brilliant green eyes had attractive laugh-lines at their corners. His voice, so low and melodious with its Irish lilt, had insinuated itself into Rosamond's heart the first time she heard it, and it made her sigh whenever he spoke.

  To Rosamond, Sir Rickard de Burgh was everything that was honorable and chivalrous, for he had pledged himself to serve and guard Princess Eleanor Plantagenet when she was tragically widowed by William Marshal's untimely death. It was rumored that he remained unwed because no lady had yet touched his heart. Rosamond secretly

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  daydreamed that perhaps she would be the one he would honor with his favor. Her pulse fluttered at the mere thought of Lady de Montfort's knight-errant. Her maiden's heart overflowed with awe and admiration for the handsome Irish warrior.

  In the morning, Rosamond forgot about the dream as she and Demi dressed and learned from their tiring-women that Earl Simon had returned from Wales with a large group of knights. As she saw the joy transform her friend's face, banishing the worry Demi experienced whenever her father went on campaign, Rosamond was thankful she no longer had to live with such paralyzing fear. To love someone and lose them was the worst thing that could happen in this world.

  The Demoiselle was eager to see her father, and Rosamond blushed, hoping that Sir Rickard de Burgh also had returned and not tarried in Wales at one of his castles. The girls spurned the head veils held out by their tiring-women, and like two hoydens, picked up their skirts and raced from the ladies' quarters of the castle down to the Great Hall.

  Kenilworth was like a royal court in its size and importance. The household was a hive of activity, with Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, presiding over it like a queen bee. She was the sister of King Henry of England, but she took as much pride in the title her husband had given her as she did in the title of princess. Though Eleanor now had grown children, she was still a beautiful woman. She was vividly dark, and far too vain to allow her hair to turn gray. These days, however, she wore her hair up, fastening the curls with jeweled pins or braiding it into a regal coronet to enhance her small, five-foot stature. She wore cosmetics, painting her mouth with lip rouge, and using kohl to outline her startling amethyst-colored eyes and to darken her lashes.

  Eleanor prided herself on her slim figure. Her waist was almost as tiny as it had been before she had given birth to her children, and the necklines of her gowns were always cut to show off her beautiful breasts. Pride of blood showed in her every gesture. Eleanor was a vibrant woman who loved to laugh almost as much as she loved clothes and jewels. She was both a princess and a countess down to her fingertips. Her husband not only adored her, but also trusted her implicitly.

  When Simon spied his daughter, he swooped her up in his massive arms and swung her about. "Can this young lady possibly be my little girl?

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  Demoiselle, you have grown into a woman in the months I've been gone. You rival your mother in beauty;
I just hope and pray you are neither as willful nor as wicked as she." Simon's dark eyes found Eleanor's and gazed into them for a moment, deliberately reminding her of the passion they had shared when he'd arrived home in the middle of the night. Though he was in his fifties, Simon was still an extremely virile man, with a commanding presence. He had a soldier's body; the muscles on his six-foot, four-inch frame were well honed from the rigors of the Welsh campaign. Simon de Montfort also had a supreme air of confidence that drew younger men like a lodestone.

  His daughter dimpled with delight and gave him an affectionate kiss of greeting. "The castle felt empty without you, Father."

  "It is filling up by the hour as the men return from Wales. No doubt it will burst at the seams when your cousin Edward arrives."

  "Lord Edward is coming?" Countess Eleanor raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her husband. Her brother King Henry and Simon de Montfort were almost enemies.

  "I am Edward's godfather, Eleanor. Just because his father and I disagree on every conceivable matter doesn't mean that Edward and I cannot be friends."

  "I agree, darling. You have been a wonderful influence on him. My nephew Edward will make a magnificent king. I warrant he will put both his father and grandfather in the shade when it is his turn to rule."

  "In spite of their reputations as hell-raisers and carousers, he and his young nobles acquitted themselves well in the Welsh campaign."

  "Such wild boys!" Eleanor said indulgently.

  "Boys no longer... they are men, make no mistake."

  Rosamond rolled her eyes ceilingward and Demi giggled as they imagined the spoiled boys parading about like men. In truth, Rosamond found it hard to picture them at all, for a month after her betrothal, the royal family had traveled to Spain, where Prince Edward, heir to the throne, was married to ten-year-old Eleanora of Castile. The political marriage had taken place to ensure peace between England and Spain, and immediately after the ceremony, Lord Edward and his nobles had ridden to Gascony, where he had been installed as ruler. When he returned to England at twenty, Lord Edward had his own household at