Devil's Consort

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘This is a fine place,’ he observed. ‘I remember it—we had good hunting from here.’

  ‘Are you considering it for your own possession?’ I slid him a glance. ‘Not without my permission, you won’t. The Devil take you and your scheming!’

  ‘I think he already has.’

  Before I was aware of it, he straightened and stepped close. His breath was warm against my cheek, stirring my hair against my temple. He stood so that he could view my profile, so close that I deliberately kept my eyes on the view, even when he lifted the jewelled end of my ribboned braid and wrapped it around his fingers.

  ‘The Devil and I came to terms long ago.’ He inspected the carved finial that restrained my hair. ‘After all, it’s said I’m descended from Melusine.’

  It meant nothing to me. He was watching me as a kestrel watched its prey. But I would be no prey of his. I kept my mind on his words rather than on the fluttering in my belly.

  ‘And are you? Is she another ancestress like Herleva?’ The Angevin had a tendency to brag about the women in his family.

  ‘So the stories say.’ He leaned back against the stonework but kept my braid loosely held. ‘A distant Count of Anjou—one of the many indecipherable Fulks, I expect—took a beautiful wife—Melusine. No one knew her background, her family. She brought no land or wealth, no important bloodline that any could trace, only the fortune in jewels around her throat and her beautiful face. Fulk insisted on marrying her, against all advice.’

  ‘As he would.’ I smiled, lured by his soft voice. It shivered down my spine.

  ‘She was so very beautiful, you see.’ Releasing my hair, his knuckles rubbed across my wrist, but his eyes were still on my face, always watchful. Where had he learned such skill in the years since I had first seen him loping up the stairs, here in this very palace? Here was no callow youth but a man seasoned with sword and with discernment and the ability to charm when he chose to use it. It crossed my mind that this was the wooing I had wanted, in Henry’s own particular way.

  ‘So Count Fulk wed the fair Melusine and she carried his four children. They were blissfully happy—except for one small matter.’

  ‘There’s always one.’ I felt myself flushing under his scrutiny.

  ‘Of course there is. Melusine stood dutifully at her husband’s side in church—but refused to remain during the elevation of the Host in the Mass or to take the blessed sacrament. No matter how the Count remonstrated with her, even to using a whip about her sides, she would not.’

  ‘A whip? I advise no man to try that against me if I displeased him.’

  ‘As I wouldn’t dare.’ His grin was mischievous. ‘Besides …’ Henry shrugged, ever the pragmatic ‘ … it did no good. Melusine refused. Fulk’s suspicions grew. In the end he decided to outwit her by ordering four of his knights to stand on her cloak, to prevent her leaving.’ Henry released me to raise his hands in graceful mimicry of the priest. ‘As the priest elevated the sacrament, Melusine turned to go—and eight mailed feet crashed down onto the edges of her mantle. So what did the enterprising lady do?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Struggling from the cloak—she left it in a heap on the floor—she grasped the hands of two of her children and flew shrieking out of the window.’

  I smiled. ‘Never to be seen again.’

  ‘Exactly! Have you heard this story before?’ He grinned as I shook my head. ‘And thus she was, as proved by her flight, the daughter of the Devil.’ His glance was sly. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘I’ve heard taller tales. Do you believe it? That you are descended from the Devil?’

  ‘Why not? We’re all red-haired with a temper to match, enough to scorch the tapestries on the walls when the mood’s on us. I make no apology for it. It is so. You saw Geoffrey’s behaviour. Is that the action of a sane man?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘You should take it as a warning, when you’re wed to me, Eleanor. The Devil’s in us for certain. When you’re my wife, there will be times when you’ll wish that you were not.’

  Ah! We had reached the crux of the matter with great speed after the diversion into Angevin genealogy. And perhaps even that had had its purpose, as a warning for me. Henry, as I was learning, did not let grass grow under his feet.

  I did not reply immediately.

  ‘Now what’s wrong?’ Henry’s frown was suddenly fierce. ‘I see no difficulties.’

  ‘I am to wed you.’ I needed to say it, as if the words spoken aloud would make it clear in my mind at last that this turbulent man would be my husband.

  ‘Undoubtedly. We agreed in Paris.’ He was deadly serious. ‘It was decided on a hand-clasp. As soon as you were free of Louis you would put yourself under my protection. And that means marriage to my mind. I thought I made it clear enough. You’ll be no whore of mine, but my wife, legally bound.’

  And so I would.

  ‘I swore an oath. I’ll not break it, Eleanor.’

  No, he would not. We were made for each other. And yet—I would like to know that he wanted me as much as my dominions. The question was, of course, would he ever tell me that? Even if I asked outright?

  ‘I wondered if you might be reluctant. And thought this might persuade you,’ he said suddenly. Henry fished in the leather purse strapped to his belt to lift out a gold collar set with opals. Dangling it from one finger so that the light caught and gleamed on the strange stones, he regarded me speculatively. ‘What woman can refuse a jewel?’

  ‘From the neck of the magnificent Melusine, I suppose.’

  ‘Clever girl! Where else? The fleeing Melusine left her cloak and her fortune on the floor of the church.’

  ‘And you carried so priceless a family heirloom all this way through Normandy and Anjou on an attack and abduction?’

  ‘It was in no danger. I was not about to fail, was I?’

  As before, his self-assurance took my breath. As did the touch of his hand on mine as he took hold and rubbed his thumb over my palm, a strange little soothing gesture. My heart leapt. Why could it not be still?

  ‘Do you still have the cloak?’ I asked inconsequentially, pleased with my ability to sound disingenuous.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t. The moth will have its way.’ A smile of great charm lit his features. ‘But this bauble has been kept safely—although not many of the Angevin women have chosen to wear it. It is not to everyone’s taste.’

  No. I could well imagine that. It was a true collar of a Byzantine pattern such as I had seen in Constantinople: heavy, solid with interlaced ropes of gold and flat plaques. The opals too lay flat, surrounded by pearls. It would require a woman of some stature to show it to its best advantage. And a brave one to wear opals. A stone of ill-omen to many, they were feared and shunned. I smiled. I would not fear them.

  Walking behind me, Henry placed the collar around my neck, latching the fastener. Allowing his fingers to drift along my skin. The gold lay cold and inert at first, then warmed and rested intimately along my collarbone, over my shoulder and breast.

  ‘Well, lady? I’d say it was made for you.’ Still standing behind me, his hands cupped my shoulders and his lips grazed my nape above the clasp. I had been right. He was as tall as I, perhaps a little taller. ‘Does it persuade you?’

  ‘It might.’ My tone remained light but my cheeks burned even hotter.

  But it was not the opals or the gold that drew me. Or the fanciful tale. Rather it was his touch. The gleam of his eyes, as beguiling as the strange mystical gems. I could feel every print of his fingers, the heat from his large, capable hands through the stuff of my robe. My blood was as hot as fire.

  ‘When will we wed?’ I asked.

  ‘When I’ve the time.’

  Hardly flattering. But practical, I supposed. I knew in that moment that as Henry’s wife I must accept that I would not always come first with him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ His lips pressed and slid along the side of my throat to my ear
. ‘Something else? How can a sensible woman find so many difficulties where they don’t exist?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nor did I. Female perversity, I supposed. ‘Do you desire me?’

  ‘I’ll protect you, you know.’

  ‘Is that all? Do you have any feeling for me? For me as a woman?’

  ‘I’ll use your money and your power.’ I felt the sardonic curve of his mouth, until it was replaced by the nip of his teeth as he bent to caress my neck again.

  ‘I know you will.’

  ‘But I’ll give you an empire.’

  ‘Hmm.’ His tongue slid along my shoulder to the edge of my gown. My eyes closed. ‘I will like an empire.’

  ‘I know you will.’ His teeth nipped again. ‘I want you, you know.’

  Ah … ‘You want me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Not good enough. Suddenly, swift as an arrow, I wanted more than that. I tipped my head to look back at him but all I could see was the dense growth of his hair as he concentrated on my collar bone. I closed my eyes in pleasure but still found the voice to ask, ‘Is this a statement of lust and possession, Henry?’

  There was no hesitation. ‘I’ll love you, of course.’

  My eyes snapped open. ‘Love me?’

  ‘Yes. Did you think I would not?’

  Slowly he turned me so that I faced him and I could see myself reflected in his eyes. I did not doubt his words for one moment. In his own way he would love me, and it would be an impatient, restless way—but still it was love. An answering beat struck in my chest as I acknowledged that I would love him too—in mine. We would not always be at one in our future together but the connection between us was strong. Too strong, perhaps, for comfort.

  I held my breath. Was that what I was afraid of? The uncontrollable longing to belong to him on whatever terms he handed out? If I loved him, I would have to fit with the pattern that Henry demanded in our life together. Could I accept that? I did not think I had a choice.

  ‘Wed me, Eleanor.’

  There it was. No soft request but a demand.

  I breathed out slowly, balanced on the edge of prevarication. I smiled and he knew my mind.

  ‘Good girl! It’s all decided.’ Henry’s face was suddenly full of light. ‘Does it appeal, my beautiful Eleanor? To be Devil’s Consort? After Pious Louis?’

  ‘It’s an interesting proposition.’ Automatically I raised a hand to touch his cheek, as if I had been doing it all my life.

  And the grin was gone. Henry caught my wrist in his hand. ‘By God, Eleanor—I’m as hard as a rock.’ Without thought of the discomfort of his mail, he crushed me to him, lifting me to my toes, leaving me in no doubt of his need. ‘I’d better go. You’ll wed me when I return. And I’ll not leave you a second time without a promise of my intent. I’ve shown remarkable control so far. No more, my magnificent Duchess of Aquitaine!’

  He kissed me, mouth on mouth, a kiss of passion for the first time. Firm and cool, his lips were assured, parting mine so that tongue touched tongue. How astonishingly like the man that kiss was. Forthright, possessive, a statement of fact. I belonged to him now.

  ‘Don’t start to think of excuses as soon as I’ve ridden out of your gate!’ he admonished, raising his head and dropping me back on my feet. ‘You know I won’t take no for an answer.’

  I was afraid I did know. His lips seduced like the Devil for sure.

  Yes, I would be Devil’s Consort.

  I saw him out into the courtyard, where his men were already mounted, disappointed that he must leave so soon but not prepared to beg him to stay. If he had business that took precedence, then so be it. I looked up into the vivid face when he had swung up into the saddle, and knew there was one subject we had not touched on and that I should raise, reluctantly, but it could not be left unsaid. I did not think Henry would damn me for my honesty in this. I took hold of his rein above the bit, holding his stallion still, although with care for my toes.

  ‘Did your father know of your plans to wed me?’ I asked abruptly.

  ‘Yes. I told him. That’s why he gave up the Vexin. Snarling his objections but accepting my argument in the end.’

  As I had thought. ‘I just wondered …’

  ‘I know what you’re wondering.’ He stretched out his still ungloved fingers to touch my cheek, an unexpectedly tender gesture. I arched a brow, trying to read his face but failing, so his reply shook me. ‘My father told me I shouldn’t wed you—because his own relationship with you had been. God’s wounds! Why be mealy-mouthed? Because you’d shared his bed. Or he’d shared yours, since it was here in your castle.’

  ‘Oh.’ So there it was, out in the open. ‘Did you believe him?’

  ‘Yes. I have always known.’

  Ah! I felt the blood heat in my cheeks. ‘Does it matter to you?’

  ‘No. I don’t see my father as a rival for your affections. If our past lovers are to step between us, Eleanor, you’ll have a whole crowd of them from my side to tolerate. I’ve taken no vow of chastity.’

  The stallion’s restless sidestepping gave me respite from finding a reply.

  ‘Did you love him?’ Henry asked conversationally.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he seduce you?’

  ‘Not that either. I went to his bed willingly.’

  ‘I suppose you had your reasons. Any woman wed to Louis would have reasons to take solace elsewhere. Now he’s dead—and you’re promised to me.’ His eyes bored into mine. ‘Since we’re stripping each other naked … there were other rumours, Eleanor—from Outremer. From Antioch.’

  Of course he would have heard them. My throat closed on any possible words of explanation, resentful that I should have to explain about Raymond, unwilling to destroy the fragile relationship between me and the Angevin.

  ‘My enemies enjoyed the opportunity to embroider every move I made,’ I managed.

  ‘Rumours have a distressing tendency to spread and contaminate, like the stench of bad meat,’ Henry said, his tone as a dry and arid as Aquitaine in high summer, as if he had not even registered my hesitation. ‘I’ll not ask you again about Antioch, Eleanor. It is in the past and is of no importance to me. Neither, I think, to you.’

  My throat eased in relief.

  ‘But now you’re mine,’ he added. ‘And don’t forget it.

  Henry gathered up his reins. What a complex man he was. Sharp and brusque, it was not the parting of a lover—but, of course, we were not lovers. I would have stepped away but abruptly he closed his fingers around my wrist and leaned down. For a moment I thought he might kiss me, but, of course, he would not, not in public. Our association was not yet for public knowledge. Instead, eye and voice fierce, he whispered in my ear.

  ‘You’ll be safe here. Keep your gates closed. I’ll come for you when I can.’ Releasing me, his fingers moved to rest on the gold collar that still encircled my neck. ‘I’ll be back! Keep the faith, Eleanor.’

  Then he was giving his horse the office to move off. Henry Plantagenet, my betrothed, was gone without a backward look and I wore the Devil’s collar around my neck.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WE ended our marriage, Louis and I, formally in a court of law, at Beaugency on the Loire in March of the Year of Our Lord 1152. All the years of my marriage brought to an end as if they had never been. My independence and my inheritance returned to me in my thirtieth year, at a stroke of a pen on vellum. All was legal and weightily judicial. And cold, cold as the ice that encrusted the edges of the river, Louis, flanked by his sour-visaged men of law, as unemotional as if casting judgment on a squabble over fishing rights.

  I listened to every point. So fast. So smooth. So plain. There were no surprises. I was granted my annulment on the grounds of a consanguinity that had never received papal dispensation. Louis and I were related within the fourth degree, which was forbidden, and which had been known since the day Fat Louis had schemed to get his son a rich windfall. So my lands were restored to me, although
I must acknowledge my allegiance to Louis as my overlord. I could expect no less. My daughters were deemed legitimate despite the dissolution—and given into Louis’s care.

  We were both free to remarry, although I must ask Louis’s permission.

  Must I? I felt a tremor of anticipation as this restriction was duly noted.

  And that, with our joint signatures and seals, as if by magic, was that. Finished. All ends tied, sealed with their official red dollop of wax. Did I feel even the slightest regret? None. Not even for my daughters. Well, perhaps a little, but my heart was not greatly stirred. I may have carried them but they had no call on my emotions.

  I stood, and looked across the table to where Louis still sat. Although he had given his assent as if it had meant nothing to him, I knew better. He hated it, detested being forced into this position. I could sense him mentally tossing the conflicting interests from one hand to the other like an inexpert juggler, afraid of which one might drop to smash like an egg on the floor. Every choice for him was anathema. Give up a vast tract of land—or condemn himself to no male heir by me. Condemn me for adultery with Raymond and keep the land—for I would be forbidden to remarry and Aquitaine would pass to Marie. On the face of it an excellent idea. But that was no way forward, for adultery would also condemn Louis to remaining unwed until my death, and without a male heir for his kingdom. He could imprison me for my supposed sins—but our marriage would remain and he would still be tied to me.