Emerald Prince (2 page)

“God guide me in what I must do.”

Chapter One

England

Winter — 1209

“H
E ASKS FOR YOU,
milady.”

Edie whispered the words, but even so they echoed like a thunderclap off the stone walls in the room. Her mistress awoke with a start and a cry.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Lady Alianor Coventry rose from the chair serving as her perch for nigh these long hours. The fine tapestry she was working tumbled from her lap to the floor, forgotten.

Edie pursed her lips. She did not like the way her lady looked. Weeks of worry had rendered Lady Alianor gaunt and lent her a faraway gaze. Exhaustion painted dark shadows under her eyes. Pale, silver-gilt hair fell to her hips in a tangle of stubborn curls Edie knew well. Her fastidious mistress had neglected her own toilette and worn the same blue bliaut dress for days.

Edie inherited her deep concern. Her mother Greta served as Lady Alianor’s maidservant for years, until age forced her to retire from court. Now Edie served in her mother’s place, the circle of devotion complete.

“’Twas rest you sorely needed, milady. He ordered you not be disturbed.”

Lady Alianor did not seem to hear her. Concern for only one other soul ruled her. She flew to her husband’s bedside, quick as a little silver arrow. She leaned over the frail figure in the bed. “Walter?”

Edie saw Sir Walter’s face looked as gray as his hair, but her poor lady did not seem to notice — or did not want to see. Mayhap she saw not the old man he was in truth, but the great man he had been.

Alianor fluttered and hovered over her husband. Her dainty hands plucked and smoothed the blanket covering her patient. She went on to rearrange the bolsters behind his head. She wrung out a cloth with water from the bowl beside the bed, and daubed his brow with maternal care.

“Enough, Nora,” Walter said at her fussing, but Edie glimpsed a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Shall I change the poultice and read to you again?” Alianor suggested with forced cheer. “Let us finish
Beowulf
.”

Walter shook his head. For despite her optimism, all knew the end was near. He patted the bed beside him. “Sit, sweet sparrow.”

Alianor trembled with emotion at the familiar endearment, but she laid aside the poultice and obeyed. She sat beside Walter and he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

“You deserve love,” he said tenderly.

“I
am
loved, Walter. By you. That’s enough.”

“Nay. You know of what I speak, Nora. A fresh flower should not be plucked by shriveled hands.” Walter paused, as if he sensed her rising distress. He compressed her hands between his bigger ones.

“I want you to know love, my dear. You deserve nothing less. Your loyalty and devotion to me all these years is commendable, and I am so blessed you did not give me up in my gray hairs. But, do not think I did not notice you gazing at young lovers whenever we visited the faire. Or watching the gypsy dancers, envious of the fire in their steps and the passion in their eyes …”

Edie saw a teardrop fall and splash upon their linked hands.

“Walter, please …” Alianor protested, and tried to pull her hands free.

His grip tightened and he continued. This last vestige of strength reminded Edie of the gallant man Sir Walter had been, the knight in shining armor who protected her lady all these years.

“Now, listen to me, Nora. It’s important I say this out. I visited the King before my health failed and sent me to bed,” he said. “I told him when next you wed, you must marry a man of your choosing. I made Lackland swear on the Holy Book itself to abide by my final wish.”

Tears flowed unchecked down Alianor’s cheeks. Walter released her hands and cradled her face in his own. “Do not cry, Nora,” he whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as he had always done. “Never weep for this old knight, for you made me the happiest of men.”

Alianor flung her arms around his neck, sobbing. Watching them, tears filled Edie’s eyes as well. She knew it was the greatest parting gift this gentle, honorable knight could have given his lady wife.

Less than an hour later, Walter Coventry died. Only then did her lady collapse from exhaustion and sleep for days.

K
ING
J
OHN SAT ON
his throne and drummed his fingertips against his knee as he waited for Lady Coventry to enter the great hall at Windsor. The anticipation of toying with her twisted his lips into a half-smile.

He knew the reassurance of Isabella’s presence would lure Alianor into audience with him, so he tolerated her chattering. She sat beside him, her own excitement at the forthcoming reunion causing her to fidget like a child. He glanced over at his wife, conceding she was still lovely, but no longer entranced him as she had in the early years of their marriage.

Today Isabella wore a murrey-colored gown of soft, fine wool, fuller than fashionable to conceal her growing belly. The purple-red cloth was foiled by a golden girdle set with amethyst and pearls. Beneath a short diaphanous veil, her dark-brown hair was arranged in large coils on both sides of her head, accentuating her fox-like features.

“Here she is, John!” Isabella cried. “Here’s my Nora.”

When she entered the great hall, Alianor curtsied to the royal couple, a portrait of quiet and dignified grace. Isabella leaped up from her chair and ran to her with a happy cry, and the two women embraced.

As the Queen’s favorite lady-in-waiting, Alianor held a special place in Isabella’s heart. John looked on, forced to watch their emotional exchange. Despite the paleness of her skin, and the hollowness in her cheeks and eyes, he thought Alianor lovely, even in stark black mourning. She was as fair as his Isabella was dark.

Too long had he waited for this day, when Alianor was a widow, without the protection of a husband. This delicate morsel in particular he planned to sample! With Isabella growing large with child again, he was entitled to a distraction, and this one would prove delightful.

Sprawling back in leisure, he massaged his groin beneath his surcoat as the two women talked, oblivious to his presence. It wouldn’t do to expose his plan or his pikestaff too soon to Alianor, though. He snorted in amusement at his own crude thoughts.

John cleared his throat and commanded their attention. “Lady Coventry, how good of you to visit us. We have missed your presence these long weeks.”

Alianor hesitated then spoke carefully. “Verily, I confess I too have missed
some
things at court, Your Majesty.”

John knew she meant Isabella and not him, and the slight enraged him. Still, he forced a smile so she would suspect nothing. “As our little Queen has missed you. Isabella talks of nothing else but your return to her side.”

Alianor looked wary. “Naturally, Your Grace, I would were I able. But, in view of my situation, it’s impossible for me to consider it yet.”

To John’s satisfaction, Isabella cast him a pleading look.

“Nonsense. Isabella would have you serve her again, not remain shut up in your dreary apartment. We but seek to make her happy,
in view of her condition
.”

His outright mockery of her own words made Alianor angry, and her blue eyes flashed. He let her impertinence pass, because he knew when the idea entered Isabella’s head, she would force the lady to concede.

“Aye, John,” Isabella squealed on cue, following his lead like a little simpleton. “Our Nora must return to tending me. I would have it so. She must weep in her cap for dear Walter no longer.” Seeing the hurt her words caused the other woman, she added, “Of course we all miss him, my dear. But I need you back with me. Lady Mary tried to serve in your stead, but she is an addle-pated creature, always misplacing my jewels.”

“Your Majesties —” Alianor began.

“It’s settled,” John declared, cutting off her plea with a wave of his hand. “We must have a fete to celebrate your return to life at court. Welcome back, Lady Coventry. We trust you have not forgotten how to please your liege and his lady fair.”

A
LIANOR DARED NOT GAINSAY
the King’s decision, but she fumed once she joined Edie back in her court apartment. The chamber was small but nicely appointed, decorated in the reds and greens of the Coventry coat of arms. It had served her and Walter well enough for years, but now Alianor hated it with a passion.

“Dishonor!” She slammed the door behind herself, and hurled aside the beautiful gown of azure-blue silk left outside. She needed no note to know the King issued a royal order for her to wear it this eve. “He insults my Walter’s memory, even more than he did in life.”

Edie looked worried. “Milady, you must do as His Majesty wishes. Wear the gown. Sir Walter would not wish you to risk the King’s wrath for the honor of his memory. He will not know the difference, will he?”

“But
I
will, Edie.”

With a sigh, Edie followed her command to put away the blue gown and fetch another somber, plain black dress.

Alianor planned to make a clear statement to the entire court when she appeared later in the great hall. Here was a widow honoring her late lord, a great man beloved by all; by all save the King.

For the final touch, she ordered Edie to put up her hair and tuck it under a black wimple and veil. Not a single strand was visible as she took her place at the evening high board with the other ladies of the court.

During the meal, Alianor sat silent, picking at her plate to convince any onlookers she was eating. By contrast the other ladies were colorful and gay as butterflies, drenched in perfume, glittering with jewels and consumed by shrill laughter, flirting with the courtiers and serving staff alike.

King John sat with Queen Isabella upon a raised dais and his expression soured when he saw Alianor. He leaned to his wife and whispered. Both of them looked at her. Isabella appeared to be pleading with her husband, but he shook his head and scowled.

A middle-aged man with a sparse little beard, tonight he reminded Alianor of a toad squatting on a stone toadstool above her. A dangerous toad, indeed.

The royal toad was garbed this eve in a green velvet surcoat trimmed with fox, golden breeches and hose. He had forgone his crown for a green velvet cap boasting peacock feathers. Chains and medallions covered his chest and a massive gold belt circled his midriff.

Before she could slip away and retire for the eve, Isabella called down from the dais, “Dearest Nora, can it be true? Did Walter teach you to spar like a man?”

Alianor knew the Queen was teasing her, yet wondered what manner of conversation prompted her question. Perhaps Isabella’s intent was to distract the King from his surly mood, but the stir amidst the nobles made her stomach knot and her cheeks grow warm. The ladies surrounding Alianor tittered behind their hands at the notion. All the court’s interest and attention focused on her — the King’s more so than any.

Despite her discomfort, Alianor found her tongue. “Why, Your Majesty, what need have I for weapons? For surely we ladies can slay any knaves with a passing glance.”

The court erupted with laughter. All save King John, who glowered at Alianor over his goblet. Even from a distance, she saw the glazing of his eyes from too much drink.

Alianor widened her own eyes and shuddered for emphasis. “La, in truth, I am most fearful of cruel blades and sharp arrows. I was glad ’twas Walter who wielded them, not I.”

Isabella smiled and seemed satisfied, but the King’s look told her he was not. His loud voice squelched any mirth left in the room as he continued to study her. “Mayhap he thought his delicate rose needed to protect herself from hidden dangers.”

“Faith,” the Queen said, “there was no need. Our Walter was ever-vigilant when it came to his precious Nora. ’Til the day he died.”

Everyone sobered at the reminder of Walter’s death. A short time later the Queen pleaded a queasy belly from her pregnancy and retired. The chattering ladies and nobles drifted away from the table and Alianor rose to join her mistress. But, to her dismay, King John’s eyes alighted upon her.

“Lady Coventry, a moment. We would speak with you.”

She hated his pompous, royal “we” manner of speech, but she nodded and tried not to let the trickle of fear claim her. She knew he was displeased over her attire and conduct. “Your Majesty.” But even her curtsey seemed to offend him. Perhaps it was a trifle shallower than he liked for he grimaced. She steeled herself for what was to come.

“Come, we shall take a turn in the gardens.” It was an order, not a request.

Alianor balked, sensing danger. “I beg your leave, Sire. The Queen surely awaits my attendance in chamber.”

“Isabella has other ladies to cater to her whims this night.”

She groped for another excuse. “And ’tis yet winter, the air so chill —”

“We doubt not your ugly woolen sackcloth shall warm you well enough,” he interrupted in a biting tone. “Did you find our gift displeasing, Lady Coventry?”