Stuart, Elizabeth (15 page)

This
was what the woman Alys must have meant, what must have frightened Adelise.
Then a strange, shivering tension began to build, a hot, uncomfortable
quickening in the deepest, most secret part of her, and she ceased to think at
all.

A
flood of heat washed through her, a wanting for even more. The desire was
powerful, too strong to fight, sucking her down, dragging her into a dizzying
whorl of sense and sensation, where the only thing that mattered was his mouth
against hers, his hard body pressing against her soft one.

As
if from a distance she heard a voice, then de Langley's muttered groan. He
lifted his head, breaking the kiss just when she was realizing how desperately
she wanted him to continue.

"Geoffrey...
damn it, man, this had best be important!"

Geoffrey!

Jocelyn
came to her senses with a start, frantically pulling away from Robert de
Langley. He held on to her a moment, then reluctantly let her go.

What
had she been thinking? What had she been doing? She could see Sir Geoffrey
Talmont standing just inside the doorway.

"Forgive
me, Robert. You didn't answer when I called, and it is important, I fear. A
large force is heading up the road." Geoffrey hesitated. "It's the
king's standard the men carry. It's Stephen, Stephen himself."

De
Langley went still, so still he could have been carved from stone.

"He's
reached Montagne's camp. No doubt we'll have company soon." Geoffrey
waited, his eyes still trained on his lord. "Do we let them in?"

For
a moment longer there was silence, and then laughter, the most cynical laughter
Jocelyn had ever heard.

"Let
them in? Of course we let them in!" De Langley ran a hand through his
hair. "Would you have me defy my sworn liege lord?"

He
turned then, picking up his empty winecup, clenching it in one hand. "One
more day," he muttered. "Christ, Geoffrey, just one more day! One
more day and we'd have had everything!"

He
hurled the cup against the wall, watched the explosive shatter of pottery
against stone. "But then when in God's name did Stephen ever have a sense
of timing, save when he seized the crown and started us all down this miserable
road?"

Jocelyn
was still standing where Robert de Langley had released her, still trying to
regain her equilibrium. After the shattering effects of that kiss, it was
difficult to take in what the men were saying. And she must have missed
something, because it didn't make sense. Robert de Langley was Stephen's man,
one of his favorites. The king would be delighted to learn he'd returned from
the grave.

Yet
she had never seen such bitterness, such carefully controlled rage in any human
being.

"I'm
sorry, Robert, but all's not lost. You know something will be negotiated."

"But
I don't
want
to negotiate! Judas, man, I'm sick of negotiation and
political foot-dragging that goes on for years! I'm sick of being bound by my
oath and my king when others just take what they want! We'll never get all of
it back now. Not without months or years of fighting. Not without losses that
are damned unnecessary! I've been through this before and I'll be
damned
if
I'll let it happen again!"

He
turned, eyes blazing. "I want to win, Geoffrey! Christ Jesus, man, I just
want to
win!
And for the first time in years, we could have."

"I
know."

With
a visible effort, de Langley pulled himself together. "Well, so be it.
I've not come this far to give up!"

He
glanced up, found Jocelyn's eyes riveted upon him and seemed almost surprised
to find her still standing there. "Get back to your chamber, madam.
Prepare yourself to meet your king. I've no doubt he'll take both you and your
lady sister under his protection. God knows Stephen has ever a place in his heart
and his court for every woman, child, disaffected rebel, and mad dog. And the
pity of it is, he still can't even understand why he's so oft bitten."

Jocelyn
stumbled across the room, wishing she could disappear. But by now her mind had
begun to function. Robert de Langley was right. Everything would soon be over,
at least for her and Adelise. Stephen was nothing if not chivalrous where women
were concerned—stupidly so, her father had often said. The king would never
allow any harm to come to them.

De
Langley was right about something else as well. It would be difficult to get
his lands back. The king needed her father's good will, for the Montagnes were
a power here in the marches. They held the border peace and blocked the earl of
Chester's design to seize all of the west of England for Duke Henry and his
Angevins. And her father had been treating recently with Chester.

Geoffrey
was holding the door open, his dark eyes missing nothing. She was unable to
meet his gaze. To have been caught in Robert de Langley's private chamber being
passionately kissed by the man! And several of his men could attest that she
had come there of her own free will. Her father would be furious if he ever
found out, and she would be ruined!

She
heard the door close behind her, well aware she was flushed and uncomfortable,
her breathing wildly unsteady. She remembered that odd light in Robert de
Langley's eyes as he had bent to kiss her, remembered how his arms had felt
around her, how his kiss had made her feel.

It
hadn't been painful or humiliating or any of the things Adelise had led her to
believe. She lifted her hand, trailed her fingers slowly across the base of her
throat in the way he had done. She could still feel the tingle, the heat of his
touch, the strange shifting and tightening in her body his kiss had caused.

And
for the first time in nearly three years she found herself thinking that
Adelise Montagne was a fool.

The
sound
of trumpets echoed on the crisp air. Brilliantly colored pennants fluttered and
snapped in the wind, accompanied by the jangle of harness and lances as
England's king and his small retinue clattered through the open gates of
Belavoir.

Robert
stood in the bailey, forcing a smile as his sovereign lord, Stephen of Blois,
searched the crowd for him, as the truth of Montagne's impossible tale suddenly
flared in his eyes like sunrise.

Stephen
spurred to within a few feet of him, swung from his snorting destrier and was
beside him in three short strides. "Robert! Robert de Langley! By
Christ... by our Blessed Lord Savior, I dared not believe it true until
now!"

Robert
had gone down in the dirt on one knee, but Stephen was immediately beside him,
was lifting him up in as crushing a hug as his six-foot frame and long
soldier's arms could provide.

Robert's
smile became a bit less forced. There was no doubt Stephen was pleased to see
him. Tears stood in the king's eyes and his face was suffused with joy, such
incredulous joy there could be no doubting.

"Robert,
I never thought to look on you again this side of the grave! God is good. God
is infinitely good. So many have been taken from me, yet you He has restored.
You whom I've almost looked on as a son."

Stephen
pushed him away, gripped his shoulders and looked him over critically. "It
is you, isn't it?" he asked anxiously, and then he began to laugh.
"By my troth, I do wonder if I'm not dead or dreaming."

Robert's
smile was now genuine. It was difficult to resist the charm Stephen of Blois
had always had in such abundance. More difficult still because the man had been
a lifelong friend to his father, had personally seen to Robert's knighting and
followed his early career with such joy. "Never fear, Your Grace, you are
neither. I'm alive as ever I was and as happy to see you. But come inside.
We've much to catch up on."

"By
the splendor of God, I would say we do!" Stephen turned, one arm still
gripping Robert's shoulder as if he feared his friend would disappear if he let
go. "Robert, you've not met my justiciar, Richard de Lucy. Come, Richard,
come and meet the legend. Come and meet my dear friend."

A
middle-aged man of average height and shrewd gray eyes approached them. Robert
nodded as did Richard de Lucy. "We are well met, my lord," Robert
said.

De
Lucy sent him a cool smile. There was a watchfulness in his eyes, a reserve
Robert sensed was habitual. It seemed an odd pairing with Stephen's effusive
charm. "Aye, we are well met, de Langley. You have given His Grace much
joy this day, joy as well as a perplexing problem. A problem we must solve with
all dispatch."

"I'm
well aware of that," Robert said. "But I can scarce be faulted for
attempting to regain what is mine."

"Faulted,
no. I only wonder if you know how things truly stand here in England, of the
dangers here in the west."

De
Lucy would be a man to reckon with, Robert thought. Pray God he hadn't already
sided with Montagne. "I believe I do."

"Good.
Leicester and I have come up with a plan—"

"Enough
of this!" Stephen said. "We will talk business later. For now I just
want to sit down and talk with my dearest Robert."

"Of
course, Your Grace," De Lucy said, stepping back.

They
went toward the keep stairs. Robert hesitated, gesturing for Stephen to precede
him. To his surprise, de Lucy pushed past him, taking the king's arm as Stephen
clutched at the railing and hauled himself up.

For
the first time Robert became aware that Stephen's tall frame seemed slightly
bent, his broad shoulders rounded and stooped. He had expected the silvering
hair, the added lines defining the face of a man who had always lived life to
the fullest. But he hadn't expected this. He had continued to think of his king
as the hale and vigorous warrior, the flaxen-haired god he had last seen nearly
six years ago.

The
reality was far different. Stephen had aged a lifetime in those years. All the
outward charm was still there —the easy, flamboyant way that made all love the
man that led few to respect the king, but the outward shell of the man was
beginning to deteriorate.

Robert
narrowed his eyes at the thought, at the dismal realization that the earth was
about to shift beneath his feet again. God help England if this aging,
well-meaning man was all that stood between her and that fire-eater Henry of
Anjou.

And
God help him!

***

The
summons came with the darkness. Jocelyn had been expecting it, had been by
turns both reluctant and eager for it ever since she had heard the flourish of
trumpets signifying the king's arrival.

She
glanced across the floor to where her sister was adjusting her tunic. She
hadn't told Adelise what had happened in Robert de Langley's room. His kiss had
been too confusing. She was reluctant to talk about it, reluctant even to think
about it. She only hoped Sir Geoffrey and Robert de Langley would hold their
tongues as well.

But
then with Stephen here, Belavoir's lord would have far more important things on
his mind than a kiss stolen from a woman who meant nothing to him. She expected
he had forgotten it entirely by now. Just one of his scores of variations, she
told herself wryly.

The
knock came again. Jocelyn hastened to open the door. A young page stood in the
hallway in the silver-and-blue livery of England's king. "Lady, you and
your sister are bidden to attend His Grace the king, to sup this night with him
and his lords."

Jocelyn
nodded. Without warning, her heart began to hammer uncomfortably, a sudden
breathlessness overcame her. It was ridiculous, but she was actually nervous.
"His Grace does us much honor. My sister and I will be pleased to
accompany you."

Adelise
joined her in the doorway, her silvery hair uncovered but braided modestly, a
gold and pearl-encrusted crucifix hanging about her neck from a narrow ribbon
of silk. She looked ethereally lovely in an ivory gown of the finest wool with
an overtunic of velvet that matched the blue of her eyes.

Jocelyn
smoothed the soft gold wool of her own tunic self consciously. The material
wasn't as fine as she could have wished, but it was her best and she knew the
color looked good on her.

But
then it mattered little enough what she wore. The room would be filled with men
who would have eyes for none but her sister. It had happened often enough now
that most of the sting was gone.

They
followed the page into the crowded, torchlit hall. As they entered, the crowd
stilled. All noise died away. Jocelyn hesitated. Stepping aside, she allowed
her sister the precedence accorded the eldest, but Adelise slipped an arm about
her, drawing her close. "We've been together through this trial," she
whispered. "We'll face the end of it together as well."

So
together they moved between the crowded lines of trestle tables, ignoring the
stares and whispers. The king was seated at the high table in the chair of
state. Robert die Langley sat to his right, her father to his left. Jocelyn's
eyes swept from her father's frown, to Stephen's beaming smile, to Robert de
Langley's coldly impassive countenance. There was no hint as to how these last
hours had gone for him, of what might have happened since he had sent her away.

She
sank into a low curtsy, shamed by the sudden rush of warmth that rose to her
cheeks. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't think of him. He had certainly
spared no glance for her.

Her
father came around the table and down the steps, holding out his hand to
Adelise and lifting her up beside him. "I would present my daughters to
you, Your Grace," he said gruffly. "My eldest, Lady Adelise of
Montagne, of
whom you've heard much..." He nodded toward Jocelyn. "And the other,
Lady Jocelyn of Warford."

Jocelyn
rose to her feet in time to see the king studying Adelise appreciatively. She
took the opportunity to study him.

Stephen
of Blois was in his fifties now and looking every day of it. Rumor held that
the death of his queen some months ago had broken both his will and his health.
Perhaps, in this instance, rumor was right. The king's broad, good-humored face
still showed traces of the extremely handsome man he was held to have been, but
it was lined now with the cares and griefs of nearly seventeen years of a
vicious civil war.

Only
his eyes seemed young. They were green and alive with a handsome man's
appreciation for a beautiful woman. And they were trained on Adelise.

He
came around the table and down the steps, smiling, reaching out to take
Adelise's small hand between his large ones. "My dearest child, what a
pleasure it is to meet you. Your father has spoken proudly of you and I see his
fondness hasn't led him to exaggeration. You truly are a treasure."

Adelise
smiled shyly and murmured something inarticulate, a blush staining her cheeks a
most becoming shade of rose. Stephen laughed delightedly, glancing back over
his shoulder at Robert de Langley. "Ah, Robert, I can see why you were so
loath to give this bewitching creature up. Come down here now and make your
peace with the Montagnes, all of them."

Despite
her earlier promise to herself, Jocelyn found she couldn't keep her eyes from
the man. She watched as he rose to his feet and walked around the table, as he
moved down the stairs with all the wary, effortless grace of a cat.

Something
swelled and tightened inside her until it was difficult to catch her breath. He
seemed taller tonight, his golden eyes more arresting, his tawny hair like
heavy-burnished gold in the torchlight.

He
was dressed in a tunic of crimson velvet that must once have been magnificent,
though it was obviously now the worse for many seasons of wear. He wore no
jewels, no chains of gold nor even the simplest ring. She remembered that Henry
of Anjou wore a ring he treasured, and a slow burning anger began heating her
blood like a flame.

Robert
de Langley had spent his life and his patrimony fighting for Stephen across the
sea, and he had lost it all: lands, wealth, even the family he had obviously
loved. He had returned to England, retaking his home against all odds, and now,
to add insult to injury, he was being forced to entertain and make peace with
the very man who had betrayed him, who had murdered his friends and seized his
castles and lands.

Jocelyn
clenched her fists at her sides, wondering if she were the only one here who
burned at the injustice, wondering how the man himself could look so coolly
self-assured in his worn velvet tunic, so calmly unconcerned in the midst of
this powerful, glittering throng.

How
could Stephen do this to him? And how would she ever be able to hold her
tongue?

Robert
halted next to the king. "I'm here, my liege, as I always am when you
call."

If
the words hinted at a bitter irony neither his face nor his voice gave more
away. Stephen turned, anxious affection in his eyes for the man who had given
all for his cause. "I know that, Robert. I know that and believe me, I do
value it, far more than you may think just now."

The
two stared at each other, and Stephen was the first to look away, back to
Adelise whose hand he still held. He smiled down benignly. "My dear child,
I'm well aware that you've been held here against your will, that you've heard
grave threats made by this man in the presence of your father.

"However,
Robert de Langley of Belavoir is well known to me—he has been since his
childhood—and I assure you upon my honor and his own that there is no better
man anywhere, that he never had any intention of carrying out those threats.
Robert has sworn upon holy relics that he never meant harm to you or your
sister. He has also sworn to keep peace with your father, as your father has
sworn to keep peace with him."

Stephen
paused for breath, glancing out over the assemblage. "We have won this day
an end to the feuding between the houses of Montagne and de Langley. An end to this
new threat to England's peace, a peace which has been so long fought for and so
dearly won. At this moment contracts are being drawn up to be signed on the
morrow. Contracts insuring a just end to this dispute."

He
hesitated again. The volume of noise and excitement was swelling rapidly. The
king lifted his voice. "We've much cause for celebration this night and
will look forward from here and not back. The proud old houses of de Langley
and Montagne will soon be joined in a treaty to insure no more discord, a
treaty that will keep all in the west secure."

He
turned, placing Adelise's hand in Robert de Langley's. "It's my joy to
inform you that our friend Robert de Langley and the lady Adelise of Montagne
will soon be joined in the holy estate of marriage. God's blessings upon
England and upon you both."

Jocelyn
felt as if the floor had been cut away from under her. Adelise stood frozen,
her already pale cheeks bloodless. For a moment that seemed an eternity, no one
moved. Then with one soft, whimpering sob, Adelise crumpled at de Langley's
feet.