A loud knocking cut off the rest of Eric’s words. The door latch rattled. ‘De Monfort, open up! De Monfort!’
Swearing softly under his breath, Eric tossed the bedcovers aside and reached for his cloak. ‘Hold your horses, I’m coming.’ He threw back the bolt and opened the door.
Sir Perceval stood on the threshold, lantern in hand. He blinked sheepishly at them. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, Sir Eric, my lady. I think you might need to know that a couple of envoys have just ridden in from Paris. They are bound for Jutigny. Like you, they decided to break their journey here because of the storm.’
Sir Perceval’s tone was so serious, the hairs rose on the back of Rowena’s neck. She bolted upright, holding the blankets to her neck. ‘Envoys from Paris? What is it, sir?’
Stepping into the chamber, Sir Perceval glanced down the corridor in what could only be described as a furtive manner. Firmly, he closed the door. ‘The envoys bear messages from the king.’
‘It’s nigh on midnight, de Logres, can’t this wait?’ Eric said, moving to stand next to the bed. ‘You can tell the envoys that Lady Rowena and I shall accompany them to Jutigny in the morning.’
With a grimace, Sir Perceval cleared his throat. ‘De Monfort, there’s more, you’d best brace yourself.’
In the short silence that followed, Eric folded his arms across his chest. ‘Go on.’
‘The king’s men hold a summons for Lord Faramus to appear at the Paris court. They also hold an arrest warrant.’
Rowena gasped. ‘An arrest warrant? For whom?’
Sir Perceval shifted uncomfortably and spots of colour appeared on his cheeks. ‘For your husband, ma dame. King Louis has summoned Sir Eric de Monfort to answer charges of abducting his goddaughter Lady Rowena. The king was of the understanding that Lady Rowena should have taken her vows at St Mary’s Abbey. De Monfort, you are accused of forcing Lady Rowena into marriage.’
A shiver ran down Rowena’s spine. ‘Father promised he would write to the king, he said that he would explain everything!’ She caught Eric’s gaze. ‘I had to beg the king to get into the convent in the first place.’
‘I remember.’
‘I knew the king would be upset by my change of heart,’ Rowena said. Her head was beginning to pound. ‘Father promised me he would make it right with him.’
Eric grimaced. ‘It looks as though he has forgotten.’ He turned back to Sir Perceval. ‘Goodnight, de Logres. You have my thanks for bringing this news.’
Sir Perceval’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re going back to bed?’
Eric’s face grew hard. ‘Well, I’m certainly not running away, if that is what you’re suggesting. This must be faced. I suggest we get a good night’s sleep. Did you inform the king’s men that I am in the palace?’
Hand on the latch, Sir Perceval shifted. ‘Not as yet.’ He smiled. ‘Thought I should warn you first.’
‘My thanks for the thought. However, it might be best if you let them know I am lodged here tonight.’
‘What will you do?’
‘On the morrow I shall escort the envoys to Jutigny with my lady. When the envoys have spoken to Lord Faramus, we can take it from there.’
‘Very well, de Monfort, if you’re certain?’
‘Quite certain.’
Sir Perceval nodded and went out. Eric bolted the door behind him.
Rowena watched him calmly—how could he be so calm?—join her in bed.
Firelight flickered over his face as he gripped her hand. ‘Listen, my love, I don’t know why Lord Faramus delayed writing to the king, but it looks as though someone has been busy in Paris.’
‘Sir Armand.’
‘Exactly. Rowena, it’s important you must do exactly as I say, I may be in Paris for a while.’
She frowned. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘No, my love, you are not.’
‘I’m your wife! My place is at your side.’
‘Not this time, it isn’t,’ Eric said, curtly.
Rowena’s breath stopped. What was happening here? One moment Eric seemed poised to open his heart to her and the next he was acting the tyrant? ‘You sound just like Father.’
Green eyes narrowed. ‘Listen, Rowena—’
Her fists clenched. ‘Listen, Rowena? I won’t. I’m coming to Paris.’
‘Rowena. My love.’ Taking her by the arms, Eric leaned his forehead against hers. ‘You can’t come with me. I must go to court and hear these charges. And whilst I am gone I want—need—to know you are safe. You’re not coming within spitting distance of Armand de Velay, I’ve heard he’s in Paris. You will remain at Jutigny with Lady Barbara. Rowena, you will give me your word that you will not leave the castle precincts.’
‘I will do no such thing!’
‘Yes, you will. Only if you stay in the castle can I be assured that your father’s household knights and Sergeant Yder will see to your safety. With luck, the king will come round to our view and I shall be back at Jutigny before you know it.’
Chapter Thirteen
The Christmas festivities were no excuse for Lord Faramus and Eric to delay setting out for Paris, one couldn’t put off a summons from the king. Particularly when the summons mentioned that the king had never heard of one Sir Eric de Monfort and demanded proof of his honour and integrity. The men left the next morning.
Thus, by the time Christmas Eve arrived a somewhat diminished household attended the customary mass. The mood was subdued. Clouds of incense filled the chapel; the sound of chanting echoed round the vaults and out into the corridors. After the service, when the last of the incense was but a faint curl of smoke, the congregation filed out for their breakfast, leaving Rowena and her mother alone on the wall bench.
Rowena wasn’t hungry. Since Eric had left Jutigny she had hardly slept. Her nerves were on edge—she missed him. She feared for him and she could think of nothing else but when they might be together again.
‘Mother, I distinctly remember Father promising he would write to the king to inform him of our marriage months ago. Why didn’t he?’
Lady Barbara sighed. ‘He was waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’
Lady Barbara looked mournfully at the chapel floor.
Rowena twisted her hands together. ‘Why did Father delay? He must have known it would anger the king.’
‘The lands your father holds from the king are not significant, my love,’ Lady Barbara murmured. ‘The bulk of our holdings lie in Sainte-Colombe.’
‘Well, the king obviously thinks our French lands are important, else he wouldn’t have sent his summons. For heaven’s sake, Mama, Eric is under arrest!’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Not for long, I am sure. Rowena, you surely heard your father swearing he would bear witness to Sir Eric’s character?’
Rowena nodded and her mother covered her hands with hers.
‘Dearest, try not to fret. Your father will convince the king that Eric is the most suitable of stewards and the king will accept him. The king needs loyal men he can rely on.’
‘It might have been better if Father had sent word to the king as soon as we married. King Louis is a religious man and all this time he has been believing that I was serving God in the convent.’
‘Your father thought the king would accept your marriage more readily if the succession was assured. He was waiting until he knew that you were with child.’ Her mother resumed her contemplation of the floor. ‘Dearest, we chose Eric not only because of his sense of honour, but also because of his reputation. We thought that if anyone could win you over it would be Eric.’
‘Are you telling me you chose him for his charm?’
Her mother gave her a troubled look. ‘Eric was chosen first and foremost for his capabilities. He is the most honourable of men.’ He
r expression lightened. ‘Although I have to admit we did recall your fondness for him when you were young. Your father and I knew that if anyone could get you out of the convent, it would be Eric. We also knew that if anyone could get you into the marriage bed it was likely to be him. He does, as you say, have charisma. We thought—hoped—a grandchild would soon be on the way. You see, dear, it occurred to your father that Eric might need a child to bolster his claim.’
Rowena stiffened. ‘You mean because of his birth or, rather, lack of it.’
Her mother made a helpless gesture. ‘Rowena, your father and I are, like you, aware of Eric’s admirable qualities.’ She smiled. ‘He grew up here, after all. However, you must understand that the world may not see him as we do.’
Rowena spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Mama, Eric needs nothing to bolster his claim. He is more honourable than most knights of my acquaintance.’
‘Of course he is. Be easy, Rowena, your father will ensure that the king knows this. There will be no annulment.’
Rowena’s heart dropped. ‘Annulment? What annulment?’ Panicky thoughts flew this way and that. What was her mother saying? Eric had gone to Paris to discuss annulling their marriage? Why had no one mentioned this? ‘The king is thinking of annulling our marriage? He can’t do that!’
Her mother grimaced. ‘I am afraid that he can. Vassals of the king should not marry without his permission. However, it won’t come to that. Your father will support Eric’s claim and he will offer proof of Eric’s character.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not hard to find, after all. You have no need to worry.’
Rowena jumped to her feet. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The king was considering annulling her marriage. ‘No need? There is every need. Mother, I am going to pack, I shall leave for Paris at first light. The king must be made to see that I want this marriage.’
‘Eric told you to remain here.’
Rowena lifted her chin. ‘Loving and obeying are not always the same thing. My place is at his side.’
‘Is it? Rowena, your father agrees with Eric, you and I should remain here. Remember, they have your welfare in mind. In any case, I am sure that by the time the Twelfth Night festivities are under way, Eric and your father will be home and this dreadful business will be behind us.’
Rowena found her gaze flickering guiltily towards the cross on the altar. Something her mother had said had given her an idea. And may God forgive her because she was about to lie, and in God’s house too.
Looking her mother straight in the eye, she laid a hand on her belly. ‘Mama, there’s something I must tell you. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone—it is too early to be certain—but I believe I might be with child.’
Her mother gave her a hard look. ‘Rowena, you wouldn’t make up something like this, would you?’
‘Mother!’
Her mother narrowed her eyes. ‘I am sorry, Rowena, I don’t believe you.’
Rowena felt her shoulders sag, she had always been an appalling liar and her mother knew her as well as anyone. If she couldn’t convince her mother, what hope had she of convincing the king?
‘Rowena, you can’t be thinking of lying to the king. You, who professed to the world that you wanted to be a nun!’
‘If it prevents the king from calling for an annulment to our marriage, it will be worth it.’
‘And when you produce no child?’
‘I can say that I miscarried.’
‘Rowena, this is madness.’
‘Mama, I can’t lose him, I won’t.’
Her mother’s face softened and she reached for her hand. ‘You love him.’
‘Of course I love him, I’ve loved him for months.’ She paused. ‘Years probably, although the way I love him has changed somewhat.’
A delighted smile lit her mother’s eyes. ‘I knew Eric was right for you.’
‘Mother, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to Paris.’
‘Very well.’ Lady Barbara got to her feet and shook out her skirts. ‘If you insist on going to Paris—against your husband’s orders I might add—I shall go with you.’
Rowena’s brow creased in confusion. ‘What about your husband’s orders? Didn’t Father command you to stay here?’
Her mother’s eyes danced. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret, dearest. I agree with you, loving and obeying are not the same thing.’
Rowena’s jaw went slack, never in a thousand years had she expected her mother to say such a thing. ‘You always agree with Father.’
‘Do I?’ Her mother lifted her shoulders. ‘Perhaps I simply appear to. Be that as it may, we shall both go to Paris. Only hear me well, Rowena. When we get there, you will not be misleading the king in any way. Agreed?’
‘Yes, Mama.’
Lady Barbara picked up her skirts and turned to the door. ‘Come along, dear, I think we will pack more efficiently if we break our fast first.’
A sharp draught picked up the edge of Rowena’s veil. Someone was marching down the chapel corridor. It was Sergeant Yder.
‘Lady Rowena, may I speak with you?’
‘Of course, sergeant.’
‘Two townsfolk have arrived at the gatehouse with a message for Sir Eric. When I told them he was away with Lord Faramus they insisted on speaking to you. They won’t say anything, my lady, except directly to you.’
‘Bring them here, if you please.’
‘At once, my lady.’
Rowena and her mother returned to the wall bench and shortly afterwards the sergeant returned with two nervous-looking women. They hovered with linked arms in the chapel doorway.
Rowena rose. ‘Come in, please.’
Rowena recognised one woman from The Sun. The other was much younger, about twelve years of age. A similarity between them led Rowena to suspect that they were mother and daughter. The girl’s face was very round and something about her made Rowena suspect that she might be simple in nature. She had pretty grey eyes which travelled wonderingly over the embroidered altar cloth, the gold cross and the brass candlesticks.
‘Lady Rowena.’ The older woman dropped into an awkward curtsy. ‘Lady Barbara.’
‘How may we help?’
‘We’ve come because we heard Sir Eric had been called to Paris.’
‘Heavens, word does get around,’ Lady Barbara murmured.
‘Yes, my lady. My name is Marguerite, I work at a tavern in the Lower Town.’
‘I believe I saw you there a few days ago,’ Rowena said.
‘That’s right, my lady. Your husband has been a regular customer of late and I can’t help but notice that there’s less trouble when he’s around. We all like him.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’
‘My lady, we know your husband comes to our tavern because of what happened to that Jutigny squire. We know he wants justice for the boy. I hope you won’t take this amiss—I like your husband and I respect him. When I heard he had been summoned to speak to the king, I knew I could no longer keep silent. I know of a witness to the squire’s death.’
Rowena’s pulse jumped and she fought to stay calm. A witness? Was her cousin’s involvement in Mathieu’s death about to be confirmed? Her gaze shifted to the young girl.
‘My lady, this is my daughter, Cécile,’ Marguerite said, slipping an arm about her daughter’s waist.
Rowena took a step forward. ‘She saw what happened that night?’
‘Aye. Forgive us for not speaking out earlier. Cécile isn’t like other girls, I was trying to protect her. I’m not confident she can cope with being cross-questioned.’
‘Thank you, Marguerite,’ Rowena said. Pleased at the steadiness in her voice, she smiled at Cécile. ‘Cécile, I’d love to talk to you, would that be all right?’
Marguerite tugged at her daughter�
�s hand. ‘Cécile, this is the lady I was telling you about, Lady Rowena. Will you talk to her?’
‘Yes, mama.’
Rowena ushered Cécile to the wall bench. ‘Please, take a seat.’
* * *
Paris. The bridge across to the Île de France, the petit pont, was shiny with ice crystals as Lady Barbara, Lady Rowena and their entourage rode across. Horses skidded; merchants leading pack animals slipped and swore. The margins of the Seine were rimed with hoar frost, the waters fretted by a December wind that blustered along the river with such force that white horses frothed and foamed on the surface.
‘Shall we seek lodgings at the palace?’ Lady Barbara murmured, staring anxiously at the ruffled waters flowing beneath the bridge.
Flexing fingers that were stiff with cold, Rowena pulled her hood more closely about her. ‘Given our arrival is unlooked for, I am reluctant to presume on the king’s hospitality. Sergeant Yder will find us lodgings.’
On the eastern arm of the island, the cathedral of Notre-Dame towered over the other churches, its crisp new stonework showed white through a complicated tracery of scaffolding. On the western arm, the walls of the Palais de la Cité rose sheer out of the windswept river.
* * *
The Île de France wasn’t large, none the less, the sun was sinking by the time Sergeant Yder had secured lodgings for them in the merchants’ quarter near the palace. Once there, Rowena barely had time to wash and change into her blue samite gown before Sergeant Yder was again knocking at the door.
‘Come in, Sergeant.’
‘My lady, the palace steward tells me that the king is spending the day in the Ecclesiastical City behind Notre-Dame. It is Holy Innocents’ Day, you see. Sir Eric and Lord Faramus are to meet with the king after attending a special mass.’
Rowena snatched up her cloak. ‘Lead on, Sergeant.’
* * *
When Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe and her mother, Lady Barbara, arrived at the Ecclesiastical City the mass had ended. On this part of the Île de France, the main streets had been swept clear of snow. They were directed around one side of the cathedral to a stone building whose entrance was guarded by the burliest monk Rowena had ever seen. A deep scar cut across his face, and Rowena knew without being told that this man had been a mercenary before he had entered the cloisters. His breath fogged the air.
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