by Alexa Aston
“Oui. As soon as you tell me your name.”
Her name. It used to mean something. But now? She was merely the highest ranked “useless mouth.” The thought of the heinous appellation made her stomach turn. Perhaps in Philip’s camp her status as the chateau commander’s daughter would garner better treatment than if she were a peasant. Unless…was there a way she hadn’t thought of that Apollo de Norville could use it against her?
I can’t trust my own father. That truth was a constant knife to her heart. But then, the commandments said nothing about honoring thy children. “How do I know I can trust you?”
His smile heated her more than the furs. “Trust is earned by actions. What do you think of mine thus far? Trust is also something you feel. What do you sense about me?”
Things she shouldn’t when alone with a man not her husband. His kindness, delicious voice and confident mien did strange things to her. Made her want to spend more time with him, know more about him, just be close to him.
“My name is Aline. Lady Aline de Lacy.” Her voice came out a near whisper. She was no longer proud to share her sire’s surname.
His brows raised, clearly in surprise, then lowered in what appeared to be anger. “So your father is John de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, the chateau’s commander. Did he know you were among those trapped outside?”
“He must.” Her head dropped and she flushed with renewed shame. “I hated him for locking me—us—out. Then I hoped the guards weren’t delivering my messages, prayed he was so busy with his duties and protecting the chateau that he somehow remained unaware. As days passed, I had to accept that he knew. And by then I knew even if he allowed me inside, I would’ve remained with the others if he didn’t accept them, too.”
He stood and began to pace. “That’s one of the most disturbing stories I’ve ever heard.”
His sympathy made her feel more vulnerable on the one hand, less alone on the other. She must be desperate if she could garner any comfort from an enemy.
“What I don’t know is where my mother and siblings are—two younger sisters left the inner bailey with me, but I never saw them outside. And I have two younger brothers. I don’t know if they left or stayed.
“Or if I can go back home to England, or how I’d get there. Assuming I still have a home.” For the first time since the ordeal began, tears dripped down her cheeks. When thrust outside, she’d had to focus every bit of her energy on where her next morsel of food was coming from and how she’d stay alive through each night. She hadn’t even known if she had a future. Tears had been a luxury she couldn’t afford. Now, they were the only things she had of her own.
He took her hand. His was warm, solid, reassuring, better than it had been in their imaginary dance. She didn’t want him to let go. Her attraction to him and the solace filling her in his presence didn’t change the fact that he was Norman. “A man is only as good as his word. I give you mine that no harm shall come to you while you’re with me.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
His words and actions countermanded everything she’d heard or thought about Normans. No Englishman she’d known had been this kind, this perfect.
He was named after the Greek god of music, truth and healing, if memory served, who had an oracle at Delphi. What her hero’s fatal flaw, as she’d read all heroes had? It was unlikely she’d get to know him well enough to find out.
Asking for more help was hard. She’d never needed any until now, unless she counted having her gowns laced or her hair done by her maid.
“I don’t have any coin.” Her mother had carried it. “Could you loan me enough for passage back to England? I’ll find a way to repay you, I promise.”
She’d stay with relatives, then figure out a more permanent solution. How could she face, much less live with, her father? If he, or the rest of her family, survived the siege.
Heartache and uncertainties drained her energy. If only she could curl up and sleep, dreamless and worry-free, for hours and hours.
“You won’t need coin if I take you,” he said.
The weight of his offer was welcome yet suffocating. She already felt deep in a debt she didn’t know how she would repay. And she feared more time with him would make parting all the more difficult. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I offered. As it happens, I’ll be leaving for Paris soon and could escort you—”
A trumpet sounded, startling them both. Two men in deep blue livery with embroidered gold fleurs de lis and swords in scabbards entered, followed by a man with a prominent nose and curly dark brown hair wearing a gold crown and a robe of dark blue velvet. The king, who she knew to be 37 years of age. Philip Augustus.
Chapter Three
Sir Apollo bowed along with the two men.
Aline gasped and drew the covers to her neck. She’d met England’s King John before, garbed in her finest gown, shoes and jewels, standing with her parents in a grand hall. Not wearing a borrowed man’s shirt with her hair tumbling about her shoulders as she sat in a Norman man’s bed. With one hand, she pulled one of the larger pelts around her like a shawl.
Embarrassment swamped her. She was a lady, and wouldn’t let it show. Though her cheeks had to be bright red. Standing before the king in her bare legs and feet would be even more awkward than sitting beneath the covers.
“Apollo, word has reached me that you are harboring one of the English,” King Philip said.
Apparently soldiers gossiped as much as courtiers. And the king cared enough to see if the rumor was true.
“I had to see such an unusual occurrence for myself. What a lovely—captive,” he continued.
Aline quivered beneath the shrewd perusal of this man who’d taken so many lands from the English and had had the power with his hired army to place Château Gaillard under siege. The first to call himself king of France rather than king of the Franks.
Aline raised her chin and sat as proudly as she could. She wanted to rail at the king for his part in leaving her and many more to freeze in the ravine, but didn’t dare. For any transgression, he could toss her in prison or order Sir Apollo to send her back outside. Or devise some worse punishment. She had no defense unless the messenger came to her rescue again and the king allowed it. Could she repay his kindnesses with defiance? For the nonce, her best choice was to stay quiet so she could stay safe and snug.
“Why did you do it, Apollo? Why get so involved with our foe?” the king asked.
“My liege, all I can say is it seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.” He pressed his lips together as if to hold the rest of his thoughts in.
“Do you think We should let the others go? Show such lenience to our enemy? Or should We retain those who are English intruders on lands that rightfully belong to us?” He took a step closer. “Don’t give the answer you think I want to hear.”
Sir Apollo didn’t hesitate. “A man is only as good as his word, Sire. So my answer is yes, I believe all of the civilians should be released. They have no say in their king’s decisions. Nor do they participate in the fighting. On the other hand, doing so could make de Lacy think you’re weak or wavering rather than merciful.”
Hearing both of them label her and her family the enemy made her stomach churn. The pronouncement sounded all the worse in her rescuer’s smooth, remarkable tone. What a fool she’d been to have tender thoughts of him. She’d found his flaw: devotion to the wrong cause.
“I have been more than patient. I’m beyond tired of waiting for surrender. Maybe I should just kill the ditch people and be done with it,” the king said. “Who is she?”
She forced herself to remain still.
“My liege, she’s Roger de Lacy’s eldest daughter.”
The king let out a less than royal snort. “Most interesting. What are you going to do with the pretty piece? Have your way with her?”
The crass, cruel words stung. What else should she expect from the leader of the opposing nation? Aline didn’t dare point
out to a king or the man she’d fleetingly thought of as her hero how awkward it was to be spoken about as if she weren’t in the same room. Or worse, that they knew she was there but didn’t think her worthy of inclusion in any discussion, much less one about her own fate.
Being under the thumb of men in authority was often displeasing, but what choices did women have? She hated being so powerless.
“I thought I’d escort her to Paris and assist her in securing passage home,” Sir Apollo said. “As soon as the missives you need me to take are ready, of course.”
A vision of her erstwhile home flashed before Aline, with its lush greenery and gently rolling hills. Her favorite spot in the garden, surrounded by sweet-smelling, colorful flowers and sunshine…. How she longed to return and leave Normandy behind forever. Though she didn’t welcome the challenge of being with him in close quarters while travelling, it’d be far less risky, easier and faster than going alone.
“The siege will end soon. We’ve nearly completed building our floating towers on the river,” King Philip said. His voice and tone grated on her nerves like the sound of the tanner scraping flesh from animal hides. “Our bridge will soon be ready. And we’re making good progress tunneling underneath, undeterred by those thick, limestone walls proving as unforgiving as my former nemesis Richard built them to be. I need you to wait to return home until victory is at hand and we’ve finally evicted every last Plantagenet from Normandy. When I finally have my way, the Angevin Empire will be no more.”
His laugh made her skin crawl.
How many would die before the king was satisfied? This could have ended before it began. Her father had said Pope Innocent wanted to mediate, but somehow Philip was able to prevent that from happening. Everything bad that had happened to her was this king’s fault. Was there anything she could do to help herself or her countrymen?
“Wonderful news,” Sir Apollo said. “She’ll remain here until we’re victorious, then.”
He had to support his side in front of his king, but hearing him discuss defeating hers sent stabs of anguish through her.
Had the king told his messenger such sensitive information in front of her because he knew her father had abandoned her? How did they know she wouldn’t find a way to slip away in the dark and convey it to the English? Perhaps the king didn’t think a mere woman would dare go against him or that one could be a spy.
Hope flashed. Maybe her father would value her and let her inside at last if the others were gone, and if she brought news that could help him defeat his nemesis and King John maintain a foothold in this part of France. After his treatment of her, did he deserve her aid over the enemy who’d shown her some kindness? Surely their actions mattered more than their unpleasant words. But if she made it inside and Philip attacked, she didn’t want to find herself in the midst of a battle. Being between the two forces when they weren’t actively fighting had been bad enough.
Loyalty. Fealty. Family. All weighed more heavily than the branches she’d lugged to make shelters in the ravine, the heaviest burden she’d had to bear.
If she did nothing to stop the French, how would she stomach it when the battle was underway, then endure the outcome, having lived under the same roof as most of the Englishmen whose lives were literally at stake? Would any of them survive?
Had she moved from one prison to another? How long would she be stuck here? She’d need a hut of her own. Living among men was bad enough, but now that she was aware, to spend nights in a hut with a man not her husband…her mother would faint from the shock. What man would have her to wife, especially without a dowry? Was her future ruined? Assuming she had one.
Uncertainty pummeled her, harsh as winter rain. She simply couldn’t worry about any of that now. Tired. So tired. At least the bed was soft and very warm.
A fresh wave of guilt assaulted her. Who was she to have even a moment of ease when so much and so many lives were at stake?
War sickened Apollo. The loss of life, the costs of battle and those survivors paid…all of that coin and effort could be put to far better use furthering society with more education, and working to build rather than destroy. Clearly his views were in the minority, or there’d have been fewer wars and less destruction over the years.
“William was the first Norman to conquer England. My conquest, to remove the English from all of Normandy, is nearly complete at last. Then on to all of France!” Philip raised a fist in triumph as the men who’d accompanied him cheered.
The color he’d been pleased to see returning to Aline’s cheeks had faded since the king’s arrival. She kept her gaze down, as she should in the presence of royalty. What she was thinking? This state of affairs and conversation had to be very difficult for her.
“I doubt your goal is to kill people, Sire, whether those in the ravine, or more than you must to gain possession of the chateau,” Apollo ventured. He was never quite sure of his place. At times, the king treated him almost like a companion and advisor, and at others, like a servant. “Perhaps there is a way to show them we aren’t seeking to abolish them but to regain what we believe is rightfully ours. If we were to show more goodwill to the people instead of angering them further and leading to more war…could we find ways to unite them?”
The king paced.
Apollo didn’t regret speaking his mind, but he admitted to being leery of consequences that might ensue if the king didn’t approve. Aline hadn’t budged, but sat stiff and alert like a scared rabbit. He had a sudden urge to hold her, comfort her. To do his best to soothe fears he couldn’t resolve. As if that would be enough.
“Apollo, perhaps I should add you to my council. That is a most excellent idea.” He nodded, then paused. “I don’t want historians to label me an ogre. Or an unjust ruler. I shall accept your counsel. Because I know of one way I can create bonds between our lands immediately. Apollo, you shall marry this Englishwoman.”
“What?” they cried in unison.
Philip laughed. “Voilà, already you think alike.”
Apollo froze. Marriage to an English woman? How could he stop the cart he set in motion?
Aline was too shocked to move.
“Lady Aline, perhaps it will lessen the sting when I defeat your father for him to know his eldest child will be not only alive but well cared for,” the king said.
The trap door was closing fast, shutting out the light. She didn’t want to be ordered to wed, or to be wed to or cared for long-term by a Norman. Even one who was handsome, enticing interesting and kind. Having to remain in France for the rest of her days appalled and terrified her.
She’d throw herself on the king’s mercy to avoid that fate. “King Philip, is there anything else I can do to thank you for your kindness in allowing me to recuperate in your camp? For your mercy in releasing the others?” Dear Lord, she hoped he wouldn’t think she meant providing information to betray the English. She had to dig deeper, though the words nigh burned her tongue. “I beg you to—”
“Anything?” the king pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Most tempting, but no.”
She blushed. He’d thought she offered herself to him.
“Mon roi, this is—” Apollo began.
“Summon my priest,” the king ordered with a wave of his hand. “We’re having a wedding.”
“Now?” they cried together again. The utter astonishment on Sir Apollo’s face must match her own.
“But the banns haven’t been cried. We’re not betrothed.” Aline couldn’t keep desperation from her voice as she struggled for more reasons. Shock upon shock took their toll as her throat and chest tightened. “The Church.…” She couldn’t get out another word. He was a Norman. Her mother and sisters…. How could she marry without them, or without them even knowing who she’d wed? And for an earl’s daughter to marry a mere knight…that wouldn’t do. But none of these crucial problems would sway the king.
Sir Apollo paced, a frustrated lion stuck in a cage. “Sire, this isn’t what I meant by showing
more goodwill to the English. And I certainly didn’t intend to be part of it.”
“Not another word from either one of you. I’ll ensure that you have whatever dispensations are required to make this binding and valid.” Philip glanced at Aline, then quirked a brow as he turned to one of the men who’d accompanied him. “Find some clothing she can wear.”
“But my liege,” one of the king’s men began, “there are no…maids here to attend her.”
At least someone had the courtesy and wherewithal to take her rank into consideration.
The man shifted from side to side, then continued, “There are only the women who—”
“They will do,” the king said. “Fetch some of them.”
Her mouth once again hung open in a most unladylike manner. Her mother would be appalled by all the breaches of decorum, but in the face of a sudden, forced wedding to an enemy beneath her rank in a gown and shoes she’d not seen and must borrow, with camp followers and soldiers as her only guests, she didn’t care. She bit back more protests so hard she feared her tongue might bleed.
She seethed. Like a leaf tossed hither and yon at the will of the currents on the River Seine that ran beneath the chateau, she could do nothing. How often she’d looked out the window and wished she could be carried away so swiftly. She hadn’t realized that floating came with lack of control or choice. Because the river had all the power.
Nothing mattered anymore. Her life was about to be ruined. Unless there was some way she could prevent this disaster and find a way back to England.
Where all would at last be well.
Chapter Four
Still stunned beyond belief by what his own words had wrought and the speed with which the best intentions had turned against him, Apollo regretted his hasty words. He wouldn’t regret his equally hasty decision to save Aline.
He followed King Philip and his men from his hut to the king’s grander one. Rich red, blue and gold silk and other fabrics draped the walls and rare rugs graced the floor, muffling the sound of his boots.
