He stirred and opened his eyes with a smile. “There you are,” he murmured.
“I hadn’t gone anywhere,” she said.
“I dreamt I was being kissed by an angel,” he said.
“Then you must be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed.” He raised himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. “Not at all.”
“You should be. I must look a fright.” She waved a rueful hand at her shaved head.
He cupped her face in one large hand. “The angel couldn’t hold a candle to you.” Again, a gentle smile. “And waking with you is better than waking in Paradise.”
“You were nearly there.” She stroked his hand with her own. “I only did what you’d done for me.”
“Have you stolen a cross from me too?” He teased her with a kiss on her forehead.
“No. You’re a heathen, remember?” she teased back.
“And you’re a king’s daughter.” He lay back down next to her and sighed. “We’ll be docking in France soon, won’t we?”
His question needed no explanation. Once they saw Henry, their paths would separate. She’d return to the protection of the crown, hidden from the world, under the pretext of a religious calling. He would live out his own life.
“We still have a couple of hours.” He kissed her softly.
“Then we have time.” She held his gaze, heart fast in her chest. “I want you. Completely.”
“But we’ve spoken of this — ”
She stopped his protest with the light press of her fingertips to his lips. “My battle is over, Benedict. The day is done. If I have you, know you, if only this once, then I can bear the lie my life has to be.” She lowered her hand. “For I will hold the truth of you, of me, of us, in my heart till the day I die.”
He looked at her for a long, long moment. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
“You’re you, Benedict Palmer.”
“And you’re my Theodosia, my gift from God.” He lowered his mouth to hers.
♦ ♦ ♦
Theodosia lay sleepless as Benedict again dozed beside her. Her body ached, stiffened, but in a way she’d never known existed. The pleasure Benedict had pulled from her body, over and over. His lips, his hands, his tongue. His hard flesh inside her. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, utterly spent but utterly at peace. No wonder Grim had hated women who dared to love, to lust, as he’d damned it. It made a woman rejoice in her body, as Benedict had with her.
A faint shout came from abovedecks. “Land ho!”
Theodosia turned to Benedict as he stirred. “In my heart. Forever.”
“Mine too,” he murmured. “Mine too.” He kissed her softly. “But now we have to face the King. Your father.” He kissed her harder, deeper, as if he would devour her.
Then she knew it was the last time.
CHAPTER 32
“His Grace asks for a few minutes while he washes from his journey.” The abbot of Abbaye Saint-Pierre cast a final glance over Theodosia, her mother, and Benedict as they waited outside the abbot’s parlor.
They’d arrived at this holy house almost three full days ago, directed by Captain Donne. Her mother had assumed complete control the minute they crossed the threshold, speaking in private with the abbot, sending Benedict to separate quarters. Ordering, fixing. Bringing her daughter back into the fold, with no mention of what had happened on the ship.
Theodosia pulled the sleeves of her new, thankfully barbless, habit straight. She cast a sideways glance at Benedict, whom she’d not seen since they’d arrived.
Dressed in fine dark green wool breeches, a long leather belted tunic, and tailored linen shirt, with his dark hair combed, he could easily pass for gentry. Longing tugged deep inside her, but she pushed it aside. They were here to honor Thomas’s memory, to lay the truth before the King. Her father, summoned here in secret by the monastic post.
“Come!” A muffled voice from within.
The abbot opened the door and held it as they filed in.
Theodosia steadied her rapid breathing as she entered the room with her mother. Benedict followed after, silent and respectful.
The abbot closed the door behind them, leaving them in private.
A man stood before the lit fireplace, facing them, arms folded. With his luxuriously clothed stout build, fiery countenance, and keen gray eyes, it could only be the King himself.
“Your Grace.” Amélie dropped into a deep curtsey, and Theodosia followed.
Next to Theodosia, Benedict bowed low, though he still soared head and shoulders over the shorter Henry.
“Rise.” Henry’s voice had a tremulous quality unexpected in such a robust man. Then he looked at Amélie and held out his hands. “My dear one.”
Amélie hastened to him and dropped before him in another curtsey. “Not as dear as you are to me, sire.”
Henry took her hands in his. “You’re not harmed?”
She shook her head. “Frightened only, your Grace.”
“Praise God. Now rise. You have no need of such ceremony with me.” The King helped Amélie to stand. A smile of great tenderness played on his lips as he loosed his hold on her.
“Thank you.” Amélie flushed like a girl as she met his gaze.
Motioning for Amélie to stand next to him, Henry sought out Theodosia. “Our baby, Laeticia?” he said to Amélie, eyebrows raised. “Surely not.”
Amélie nodded. “It seems impossible, but yes.”
“Impossible until I look in a mirror and see an old man gaping back at me.” Henry gave a laugh, which only Amélie joined him in.
Theodosia ventured a smile. A glance at Benedict confirmed him paralyzed with deference.
The King did not seem to notice as he spoke to Amélie. “Inside we might feel as the day we met. The outside world would judge us otherwise.”
“Yet I cherish those memories far more than I mourn the loss of my youth,” came Amélie’s reply.
“Of good spirit, as ever.” Henry brushed a hand against her cheek before turning his full attention to Theodosia once again. “Come forward, Laeticia.”
Theodosia did as instructed, eyes cast down demurely.
“You’re a beautiful young woman,” he said. “Yet you chose the cloth?”
“Thank you, your Grace, but the cloth chose me.”
Henry’s eyebrows arched as he transferred his gaze to Benedict. “And you are?”
“Sir Benedict Palmer, your Grace.”
“Duped by Fitzurse and a witness to poor Thomas’s demise,” said Amélie swiftly. “Neither Th — Laeticia nor I would be here today if he had not come to our aid. Isn’t that so, Laeticia?”
Her mother gave Theodosia a gracious smile, as if the harsh exchange on the boat had never taken place.
Theodosia simply nodded.
“Then I will be forever in your debt, Sir Palmer,” said Henry. He indicated to two red velvet–padded settles by the fire. “Now please, be seated, all of you. The letter that came to me hinted that there is much to tell, and I need to hear it all.”
“It will take some time, sire,” said Amélie as they took their places, she next to Henry, Benedict beside Theodosia.
“Then take it,” said Henry. “No one will dare disturb us.”
♦ ♦ ♦
It took nigh on two hours to tell Henry the full tale. He listened well but barked short, sharp questions at several points. His interrogation showed a keenly incisive mind, and impressed and terrified Theodosia in equal measure. Her father he might be, but she could think of him only as the monarch.
Now they’d finished, they sat in silence before the glowing embers of the fire while fat snowflakes rustled against the window.
Henry held Grim’s manuscript unrolled on his lap and shook his head slowly, face ruddy with fury. “I always knew Eleanor loved my power and not me. But I never thought she’d stoop to these lows.”
“The lust for power makes people do some terrible thi
ngs,” said Amélie. “She will be judged before God, like everyone else.”
“If only she were like everyone else.” Henry sprang to his feet and rolled up the manuscript.
Theodosia too scrambled to her feet, Benedict quicker than she. Amélie also rose politely.
“No, no.” Henry waved for them to sit. “I’m thinking, thinking. Walking helps me think.”
As they complied, he paced before the hearth, slapping the roll of vellum hard on his other open palm as he did so. “Knowing Eleanor, she won’t worry about the Almighty’s judgment. She’d more likely try to oust the Almighty so she could take his place.” His face reddened more in his anger. “Curse her!”
His sudden shout made Theodosia jump, and Benedict started beside her.
Pausing before the fireplace, Henry took the manuscript in both hands and struck it against the stone mantel over and over. “Curse her, curse her, curse her!”
Theodosia sat utterly still, not wanting to draw the King’s wrath. Now she knew where her own flashes of fury came from. At the edge of her vision, she saw Benedict’s actions mirrored hers.
“What am I supposed to do with such scurrilous lies?” Henry wheeled around and waved the manuscript aloft. “Murder in my name! A good man, nay, a great one, slain! Betrayal by my own queen! Devil take her, and devil take those sniveling little curs spawned from her rancid loins. Devil take them all!” Specks of foamed spit flew from his mouth as he shouted.
Did the King need help? His rage was fearsome. Theodosia caught her mother’s eye, but Amélie appeared calm, like she had witnessed this behavior before.
Henry flung himself back into his seat beside her mother, his hands trembling violently. “Edward Grim is a lucky, lucky man to have died so easily. He wouldn’t have had as swift a passage if I’d got hold of him.”
Amélie placed a steady hand over his convulsing ones. “Your passion for truth, for righteousness, shows in your anger, sire. But do not let it make you ill.”
The King snorted but seemed a mite calmer. He looked at the manuscript and snorted again, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. He stared into the fire, lost in his own thoughts.
Amélie patted his hands gently. “You have the truth now. You hold it in your hands.” She looked at Theodosia and Benedict and gave a light laugh. “Indeed, sit beside it. For we three are living proof of it.”
Henry gave a humph and let out a long breath.
Amélie continued. “But we are not a piece of vellum, with words spelled out along it. We are flesh and blood. Indeed, Laeticia is your royal flesh and blood, conceived in holy matrimony.”
Another humph.
“Then what happens to us all, sire?”
Reluctantly admiring of her mother’s skillful handling of the King, Theodosia glanced quickly at Benedict. His dark eyes reflected her own trepidation of what might come to pass.
Henry jumped up from his seat to pace once more. “That’s what I’m trying to decide.” He paused and looked at Amélie. “You know, if I could, I would claim you as my queen?”
Amélie bowed her head graciously. “Sire, you spoke of this many, many years ago. It’s not to be, and I accept that. I am happy to live the life of a holy woman. I am content with your blessed patronage.”
Henry’s mouth creased in a smile. “Few women would ever claim to be content. You’re a remarkable woman, Amélie.” He set off pacing once more. “Look at this situation from the outside world’s view. Eleanor has no proof of your existence.” He swept a hand to encompass all three members of his audience. “Her knights are dead. Edward Grim, curse him again, has a solid reputation.” He held up the manuscript. “His account tells of a murder that happened due to my poor relationship with my archbishop. No mention of any of you in it.” He halted, a triumphant grin on his face. “Then we can return to how we were, except better. Amélie, Laeticia: it will be easy for me to set you up in a new convent, one far from here, where no one will ever suspect your true identities. You will be my secret once more, but completely safe together till the end of your days. I give you my word.”
Amélie clasped her hands. “God be praised,” she said quietly.
Return to the lies. Theodosia plastered a smile on her face, sickened though she was at her fate. But who was she to question a king?
“Sir Palmer,” said Henry, “you risked everything, even your life, for my family. I will see to it that you are a wealthy man.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” Benedict gave a respectful bow.
“But what of you, sire?” said Amélie. “Your plan is most generous, as always. But it means the world will find you to blame for Thomas Becket’s death. That would be a great injustice, a great lie.”
Theodosia and Benedict murmured their agreement.
Henry waved a hand to dismiss their objections. “To bring Eleanor to justice would be almost impossible. For me to try and do so would tear my kingdom apart. Many, many innocent lives would be lost.” He looked at Amélie. “Including yours and Laeticia’s, I have no doubt of that. The Queen never, ever gives up, once she has set her mind to something.” He took the manuscript in both hands, and his voice lowered. “This is mine to atone for.” He stared at it in silence for a long moment, lost in his own thoughts. Then he snapped to, voice strong once more. “Palmer, you can start by having my spare horse, an excellent black gelding. You’ll find him in the stables. I have an estate to the south of the country that needs a baron. I’ll give you the details later. You might as well set off for there in the morning. No time like the present.”
“Thank you again, your Grace.”
Theodosia couldn’t look at Benedict, couldn’t bear to see the joy that would be there. Not just his escape from poverty and shame. Wealth beyond his wildest dreams and a noble title. He would have the pick of noblewomen to take as a wife, to be mother to his children. Her jealousy threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced it down. He deserved it. It didn’t matter if it broke her heart. She’d have the rest of her life to grieve.
CHAPTER 33
Palmer opened the door of the abbey that led onto the courtyard. Though the sky was clear now, the night’s fall of thick soft snow came halfway up his boots. At this hour of the dawn, no one else stirred, save for a single blackbird, hopping along in search of food. Only a lone set of footprints marked the snow, showing the path of a groom headed for the stables.
Up in the abbey, Theodosia prayed or slept, he didn’t know which. And he’d never know. She would be closed to him forever. He trudged through the snow toward the stables, his heart sick. Last night, he’d not closed an eye, running through his choices over and over. And always coming back to the same one. His mind was made up, and it felt right.
The stable door creaked on its hinges as he opened it. Warm, pungent air met his nostrils as he went along the stalls to look for the gelding. There it was.
“Good morning, handsome fellow.” Palmer put a hand out to stroke his new animal. The horse’s neck was sleek under his touch, a smoothness that spoke of many hours of combing and grooming.
The saddle waited outside the stall on a rack. Palmer bent to examine it. Made of the finest leather, it was tooled to the highest standard and oiled so it gleamed. This was the kind of wealth the King’s reward would command. He shook his head. He’d take the horse, he needed one. As for the rest of Henry’s gift, he’d have none of it. The only thing he truly wanted was his beloved anchoress. And because he couldn’t have her, everything else meant nothing.
He picked up the ornate saddle and opened the door of the stall. “Definitely made for a king’s arse. Not mine,” he remarked to the horse.
“What’s that about my arse?” Henry’s face popped up over the partition between stalls.
Palmer colored redder than he ever had in his life. “Y-your Grace.” He bowed deeply and lowered the saddle to the floor. “A thousand apologies, sire. I didn’t know you were there.”
Henry snorted with laughter. “Obviously.” He emerged f
rom the stall, a leather apron tied round his large gut. “Don’t worry about it, sir knight. I’ve heard a lot worse in my time.”
Palmer gaped, unable to find words.
Henry looked down and patted his apron. “You’re wondering about this, aren’t you?”
“Eh, yes, sire.”
“I like to get stuck in,” said Henry. “Can’t abide staying in bed more than an hour or two. Get nothing done. Grooming horses — now, there’s a real job. Makes something happen. Gives you time to think.” He fixed Palmer with his piercing gray eyes, slightly bloodshot from hard work and the early hour. “Good to see you’re not a slugabed. Or are you just keen to see your estate?”
“If I may, I would like to speak with you about that, sire.”
“Go on.”
“Your Grace, I would be more than grateful to accept this fine horse and saddle.”
“But?”
“But if it please your Grace — ”
“Oh, spit it out, man. You’re stuttering like a simpleton.”
“I don’t want the estate. Or the title.” Palmer swallowed. “Your Grace.”
“Hah!” Henry began to pace on the straw-strewn floor.
Palmer winced inside. He’d seen the King’s pacing build up to an astonishing rage yesterday. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of another one.
“You interest me, Benedict Palmer. Last evening, I granted you a title. Wealth for life. Privilege. One of the finest steeds in the kingdom. Yet you reacted like I’d asked you to lick a leper. And now, this morn, you don’t want it, save for the steed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I have to ask myself, what’s the matter with you?”
“There’s nothing the matter, sire. I’m grateful to you and your generosity. I thought of nothing else last night.”
“Flat as a cowpat.” Henry stopped dead. “Why?”
“All I ever wanted was to be rich. Build high, fine walls around me. Keep sickness, hunger, death outside the door.” Palmer shrugged. “But that was a fool’s want. What matters is a place in the world where I can stay put, live out my life with a woman who loves and respects me for who I am, not what I own.”
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