Bella sat back after a while and stretched, flexing her fingers and easing the cramps out of her shoulders. She marvelled at how many pages she'd already filled. There were ten, but she was no closer to understanding the how or the why of what had caused her to be here.

Bella kept coming back again and again to what her intuition told her was true--Lady Chandos was dead. She accepted that as fact, now.

The question Bella wanted answered was, was it possible for her to return to her own place in time? Standing about in this century wearing Lady Isabel's sorry shoes wasn't all that pleasant. Well, she amended. Some parts were very pleasant. Good s.e.x didn't make up for the rest.

Bella had deeply resented the priest's accusations. Father Kerwin was a very intimidating confessor. He had accused her of committing the unforgivable sin of murder. Bella had soundly denied that charge. He he immediately countered with the undeniable logic of Saint Matthew. Sins came in three varieties; thought, word and deed. Kerwin was willing to grant that she had not succeeded in the deed. However, she had contemplated murdering her children to spite Sir John, boasted of it and G.o.d alone knew if she had attempted to do it. Likewise, Bella was guilty of thinking, talking and attempting to commit suicide.

Those charges made Bella's skin crawl.

Worse, she simply had to concede those issues. It hadn't been her thoughts, words or deeds, but that hardly counted where the priest was concerned. He, like Sir John, honestly and truly believed she was Lady Isabel. For that matter, Bella now realized every person she'd met in this castle from the lowest pot boy in the kitchen to the lord and master, himself, believed she was Lady Chandos.

She didn't resent having to do that lady's penance. Bella came from the school of thought that every prayer said was worth saying in and of itself. She understood now that the lady's threat to do violence came from her fear that the king of England's forthcoming war in France would endanger Lady Isabel's family in her native country.

Those were pretty powerful reasons to say rude and angry words and to make empty threats. But the truth was, Lady Isabel had not harmed a hair on any of her son's heads. Bella knew in her heart the poor woman could never have hurt those children.

Bella was convinced that her own pa.s.sage through time was in some way connected to that pit of bones at Lewes. She wanted very much to go back to Lewes, but as of yet, she had not found a way to do that. How did one escape a castle as well manned and guarded as Chandos Enceinte?

She allowed her thoughts to go one step further considering the consequence of Lady Chandos pa.s.sing forward in time in a direct exchange of places. It comforted her to think that the hand of G.o.d had intervened. And it was possible that what ever self-inflicted injury the lady had sustained could have been overcome by modern medical wonders. After all, the century Bella had come from was well equipped to resuscitate life. But considering Ari's peculiar behavior at the end, she thought it unlikely he would have done anything to help the poor woman.

If he had, what would that lady make of Bella's century? Would she want out of a an age of electricity, supersonic flight, advanced high-tech medicine? Would she take one look at Ari and behave as Bella had done to Chandos, immediately succ.u.mb to his seductive charm?

Bella put her quill aside as she considered one last thought. John de Chandos. He made every pheromone in her body sing. Just thinking about the smooth way he'd seduced her last night made her realize the man loved his wife very, very deeply. Considering all that Bella had learned, Lady Isabel hadn't deserved Sir John's loyal adoration.

Sadly, Bella had to concluded there would be no way back to the future for her.

Even if she were to successfully find the Well of Souls, Lady Isabel wouldn't still be on the other side to exchange places. The Wynfords would have moved on.

Bella glanced at the open window, noting that twilight had finally come. The sun set much later in England than it did in Texas in the summer. She guessed the time to be nearing ten p.m.

Only Clarise had come up to check on Bella since she had retired to her tower. The servant had thoughtfully brought a supper tray. Bella found that action, telling. Kings, she knew, had the power to banish unruly subjects. For the duration of Edward's visit, Bella could very well have to remain under house arrest.

Bella sighed. She supposed that military organizations from time immemorial had found wives thorns in their sides. This was her first experience at that, but she had some skill to fall back on from being a long-time corporate wife. There were similarities.

A polite knock on the door brought Bella out of her reveries. She bid the caller come in. Aristotle preceded Robin inside the room. The cat bounded to her lap. Robin came more slowly. He appeared solemn as a tomb effigy and bowed elegantly before Bella.

"I have been sent as an amba.s.sador to speak with you, madame."

Bella studied him gravely. He wore what she was certain was his finest tunic, a deep rich black velvet with gold piping down its fitted length. Holding his mantle in place was an exquisite broach, combining his father's devise a Templar's patte cross with the Rose of Lorraine. "Why is that, Robin?"

"Father wishes to know if you desire to come to the hall and greet our guests."

"Does he?" Bella's brow tightened. "What kind of a question is that? Is that what he specifically bid you to ask? Or is there more and you are not saying it?"

"Aye, there is more, madame. There are conditions that must be met before you may join the company."

"Conditions? Why were you sent to speak of this with me? Why hasn't Sir John come himself?" Robin looked very uncomfortable after she'd asked that.

He cleared his throat then said, "King Edward insists you not be coerced into meeting his conditions. You must submit to him of your own free will." "What then, pray tell me, must I do to go freely in my own house?"

"No more than what every soul in the land does, Maman. You must swear fealty to the king." Robin bowed gracefully.

"I see." Bella raised her chin. "Nicely done, Robin.

A parry and a tease to pique my interest then a thrust straight to the heart. I see why your father praises your smooth tongue."

"Maman, s'il vous plait...."

"No, no." Bella held up her hands, stopping his flow of persuasion. "Tell me, Robin, what price does this king of yours demand for peace? Do I abase myself by crawling naked into the hall on my hands and knees? Will he be satisfied with sackcloth and ashes? Or is he as proud a man as your papa is and will not settle for less than first blood? Just what will appease this king of yours?"

"Madame." Robin blanched.

"Tell me," Bella demanded.

The tall young man before her was too proud to lower his own head before her. "Aye, you must go down on your knees before the king. And you must put your hands in his and pledge everything you hold dear over to him. Is it so difficult, Maman? Did you not do the same before Papa? Beg his forgiveness yesterday?"

The air in her bedchamber fairly crackled as his words torched Bella's fiery temper. "You know nothing about that, young man. Not one blessed thing." She added heatedly, And it is not over between your father and me."

Robin drew himself up tall, his pride stung. "Is that the message you wish me to take back to the hall?" Bella's hands twisted into tight fists in her lap. She glared at her hands for a long moment, thinking what she should do. Never mind the fact that she was not of this era where a king held the ultimate power of life and death over all his subjects. She couldn't argue he had no power over her because his rule was the law of England. American citizenship was of no consequence in this day or age. So long as she stood on English soil, the king could affect her. What to do? What to say to this boy acting as His Majesty's messenger?

"Robin, tell me this, if I do not agree to this swearing, what consequence will be levied on your Papa?"

"We all pray to G.o.d there are none, but who can say what a king will do today or tomorrow?"

Those were wise words of caution from one so young.

But what, dear G.o.d, should she do? Yesterday, Bella could have recited every king of England if she wanted to, but what did she know about the lives of their subjects? Even facts she had once had committed so firmly in mind were hazy now. That could be because she was feeling stressed. The past twenty-four hours had been the most chaotic and traumatic of her life. She finally found the fact she was seeking. The next king would be Richard, a son of the Black Prince. Edward the Third would hold the throne of England for another generation at least.

Forcing her hands to flatten against her thighs, she said to Robin, "Go and tell your king I will come down in my own good time, but when I do, I will swear fealty to him. Then go to your father when you can and tell him I do this for him and for you and Geoffrey and Henri."

Robin brought his heels together and bowed deeply to her. "I will do as you say, Maman."

"Robin, one more thing."

"Yes, Maman?"

"What should I wear?" At that question, Robin dropped to his knees before her, throwing his arms around her waist, hugging her as tightly as little Henri had done the night before.

Bella patted his shoulders, comforting him, realizing that this had been a most important subject to him, who his mother recognized as king.

Bella bent her head low over his dark head and told him, "Robin, you must do one more thing. There are men here, sworn to your Maman. I must speak with them privately before I do this thing before the king. Can you ask them to meet me outside the doors of the hall?"

"Yes, I will." He raised his head and kissed her cheek. "You may not know how brave a woman you are, Maman, but I know it. I will never forget it, either."

"I will need every sc.r.a.p of courage I can find to do this," Bella said, smiling for him.

"I will be there with you, Maman, always."

BOOK TWO.

Blessed be the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of G.o.d.

ST. MATTHEW 5:9.

DEJA VU.

-11.

Clarise came back shortly after Robin departed. Between the two women, they looked over every garment of Lady Isabel's wardrobe with very critical eyes. Queen Phillipa and her court had come, as well as five of the king and queen's children. With that many in the royal party, both the east and north towers had been given to them to house all the people. Clarise a.s.sured Bella that was acceptable.

Bella couldn't believe she and Sir John were not giving up their bed. Clarise revealed if it was only the king they would have, but the queen travelled with her own bed always. She also like the East tower and having her brood of children with her.

Bella was interested in meeting this queen who later in her life would hold her own in the Peasant's Revolt. And she was curious about the son John of Gault that Shakespeare had treated reverently in the play Richard the II. With those thoughts in mind, she went through the rigors of dressing easier.

She was worried, though.

Both she and Clarise settled for a white, full-skirted kirtle edged with bands of scarlet ribbons on the hem. It had a loose neckline, which was good, because that allowed Bella to expose her shoulders. Shoulders, she thought, were elegant. A lot of cleavage might be good for tempting a man, but not so good for flaunting before a king. Shoulders were a good compromise.

Over that Clarise tightened the laces of a never-worn, black velvet bliault similar in design to the green gown Bella had worn last evening. This gown was made specifically for exposing shoulders, having a wide boat neckline.

It was edged by golden piping to enhance the long lines of the gown. The bliault opened from midthigh down. Bella intended that the kirtle with its scarlet ribbons would underscore the House of Chandos colors with those of Saint Pierre.

Bella discovered she was becoming rather protective of her French antecedents. The gown was a good compromise. She hoped the king was smart enough to see it.

The only thing she did not like about the outfit was the profusion of embroidered gold roses cl.u.s.tered across the hem. She feared that somewhere in this amazing complex there was a clutch of little women going blind, sewing roses on bolts and bolts of cloth.

"You look beautiful." Clarise beamed as she put down the hair brush and stepped back to admire Bella's gown.

"The question is, do I look penitent?"

"No," said the Englishwoman.

"Well, at least you are honest, Clarise."

"G.o.d speed, my lady."

I'm sure He will, Bella thought as she made her way to the door. Aristotle padded after her. "Not this time, old man." She told him and left him shut behind the door.

There were, she discovered downstairs, four knights sworn personally to her. Standing behind them were twelve men-at-arms, eight pages, and twice that many squires.

That was very daunting. They closed ranks around her in an anteroom outside of the hall and Bella explained what she was going to do and why. For her husband and her sons.

She saw relief ease the features of most of the men.

Those who could not accept what she was doing, she promised to do what she had promised the French cooks, to gain their release from Sir John's service and leave to return to the house of Saint Pierre in France. To a man they agreed to those terms.

Last, she turned to the oldest of the knights, a.s.suming correctly that Sir Neville, as the most senior, was their captain, so to speak.

"Now, how shall we do this? With trumpets blasting and ceremony or shall I just walk down the length of the hall and prostrate myself before King Edward begging for mercy?" Bella was trying to be cheeky to bring some sort of levity to this grim situation.

Sir Neville dropped to his knee before her, clasping her trembling hand. "My lady, where you swear, I shall swear. My life and my sword have been in your service since the day you left your father's house. I will not desert you for some paltry disagreements between kings. Kings come and kings go on both sides of the channel. Great ladies and n.o.ble men are few and far between."

Since Bella had done nothing to win such undying admiration she was greatly impressed by Sir Neville. All but one knight gave her the same pledge. The squires and pages posed a much greater quandary.

The young men and boys were nearly all St. Pierre cousins, fostered to further their education toward knighthood in John de Chandos' house. There was no way for Bella to know what was best for them. She asked that they wait until this could all be sorted out more on the morrow. In other words, she was deferring responsibility for them to Sir John.

Once this was organized, order came back to the ranks, a herald was alerted inside the hall, and a crier announced, "Your majesties, lords, ladies and all a.s.sembled here tonight, the Contessa Isabella de Saint Pierre, Lady of the house of Chandos, and princess of the ancient and honorable kingdoms of Lotharinga and Merovia."

That was impressive, Bella thought as she approached the steps to the hall. She should have had the crier add her degrees. Keeping her thoughts irreverent helped as the sea of people formed an aisle from the doors to the raised dais at the far end of the hall.

The room was hazy from all the torches blazing to give it light. Bella fixed her eyes on a spot above the throne chair at the center of the dais.

There were a gaggle of children up there with the adults and she didn't recognize anyone. It was a blur. That almost made her laugh. Here it was, the most important and awesome moment in her life and she wanted to giggle and squint.

A daunting hush had fallen over the crowd. Bella could hear the cadence of her men trooping behind her. She got a glimpse of the tonsured head of Father Kerwin and hoped he had changed his robe so the king would not be offended by the smell of sewage. Kerwin's knees were probably rattling as noisily as his beads, fearing what words she'd say next.

Then the three steps to the dais were before her. As gracefully as she could, Bella curtsied to the floor, bowed her head and waited. She hoped Sir Neville would make sure no one cut off her head.

A low murmur swept from one end of the hall to the other like a wave cheer at a football stadium, but softer.

"What purpose is this show of arms, Bella of Chandos?"

A deep voice barreled at her from the throne chair.

"I am unarmed." Bella held out her empty hands. She hadn't even worn the expected girdle with its jeweled scabbard for her own eating knife. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, and dared to look up at the king.

Her heart lurched into her throat.

Edward Plantagenet was a throwback to the sixties, blond, surfer blond with flaxen curls draping onto to his shoulders. His eyes were a blue she knew intimately well. His long face bore that high forehead above eyes that glinted with a lean, hungry salesman's qualifier. Ari!

Bella's arms dropped to her sides. She lost all ability to speak, flabbergasted, stupefied, and numb.

King Edward the Third rose from his seat and fitted his fists to his hips, flaring out the scarlet velvet and ermine draped cloak that swung from his shoulders.

"Your men are armed." His deep voice thundered to the rafters. "Dare you draw swords against the King of England?"

Heaven help me, Bella gasped.

Every knight in the hall stepped forward to protect their king. The sc.r.a.pe of steel cut the air.