He ignored her. "That marriage was not of your choosing, was it? You were only four years old when you were married to him."

I winced. That was bad as anything that had happened to Alainor.

"I do not choose to discuss this with a stranger!"

"As you wish. But remember that you had a terrifying experience with a husband foisted on you when you were a small child. Why can't you be more compa.s.sionate to Cecylee?"

"Because my brother is no monster!"

"Isabel," I put in. "I do not expect you to understand-"

"Understand? I do not understand why Richard loves you."

"That marriage was not of my choice."

"Choice! What makes you think you would choose well for a husband?"

"I have a right to choose."

"You should be thinking of the family honor."

"My happiness is at stake."

"Is he well chosen?"

I folded my hand into Blaybourne's.

"Your behavior has been disgraceful."

"I want to be happy in my life."

"You have grievously injured the House of York, and if I had any say over the matter, you would be severely punished!"

Isabel glared at me. Then she swept off in the direction of the castle.

Chapter 9.

Feast of Bernard of Clairvaux August 20, 1441 I did not leave the castle until one evening a week later. The day had been especially warm, Lisette had just recovered, and to celebrate we went out to the bathing pool to cool ourselves with a bathe in the evening air. We lingered, gossiping and playing with the children, but at length everyone went in, leaving me gazing at the brightening stars. The night was peaceful and I ached for some of its quietude before I had to go back into that hot, noisy, and smelly castle.

I lay back in the pool, half closing my eyes to let the sounds of the evening wash over me. I was unaware of anything other than the turmoil of my thoughts, unleashed against the quiet backdrop of the night.

"My sweetest flower, how sad you look."

I started. "What are you doing here?"

"I must talk to you," he said in a low tone.

I stared. Where had he come from?

"You could be carrying my child."

"No."

"I will wait while you dress yourself." He disappeared into the shadows.

I clambered out of the pool, grabbed my chemise and threw it over my head, followed by my silk gown, which had become water-stained and ruined by my splashes. Sighing, I sat on the bench, finger-combing my hair and making a half-hearted attempt to braid it, when he returned.

"Who are you?"

"Truly I don't want to talk about myself." He pulled me gently to him and kissed me slowly and luxuriously on the lips.

"You are not answering the question."

"Could it not wait?"

"I have been thinking, since last we met. I realize I have agreed to marry someone whom I know not. Isabel is right to chastise me. How can I make such a choice about one whom I know nothing?"

There was a pause.

"Let us start with your name. Is it really Blaybourne?"

He turned away from me and gazed into the bathing pool for a long moment. A breeze stirred faint ripples. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"You may not like what I have to say, for my family is humble. My father was a blacksmith in the village of Blay, near Bayeux in Normandy."

The color drained from my cheeks. I was silent for several long moments. "But you do not have the manners of a blacksmith," I stuttered.

"I was sent to the Abbaye-aux-Hommes in Caen as soon as I turned seven, for my parents were dead, my elder brother had a family to support, and there was no money for my keep."

I stood silent for a long time, trying to imagine this. "Is it usual for poor children to be sent away to the monastery?"

"If they are lucky. Otherwise they have to beg at the side of the road."

I shuddered. I had seen such children of course, many times, but had never given thought as to what their lives were like.

"I did well at the abbey, so when I turned twelve they sent me to study languages at the Abbaye de Saint-Maurice on Lake Geneva. I studied Italian and German as well as French, Latin, and Greek."

There he stood, now gazing into the pool. The son of a blacksmith. I had allowed myself to be touched by a peasant. My cheeks burned with shame. But his manners were excellent, highly polished and courtly. His voice was musical and cultivated. He dressed well. He was clean.

"I know you feel betrayed," he said, flushing and twisting the ring on his finger. It was a sapphire set in silver. His fingers were long, thin, and aristocratic-looking. They did not bear the marks of hard labor.

"You have not led the life of a peasant."

"No. But I started out that way."

"But you have made something of yourself. You were not born with riches as I was. You had to work to make your way in the world."

He gazed at me. "That is a rather unusual thing for a great lady to say."

I put my hands into his. "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

His lips met mine, and we lingered together for a long moment. "Beloved," he whispered, "I hardly dared hope-"

I stopped his mouth with my fingers. "I want to know more."

"I spent a couple of years at the Abbaye de Saint-Maurice. Then I was sent to university, in Italy."

"Where?"

He smiled and shook his head slightly.

"Are you a bachelor?"

"I'm a doctor."

I stared. I'd never met anyone so well educated. The aristocratic men I knew lived and died in the saddle. A vision of myself with this gentleman filled my head. We would study together, have soaring conversations.

"How did you become an archer?"

"I learned various trades."

"Is your name Blaybourne?"

"My name is Pierre de Blay, from the village in Normandy where I was born."

"Where does 'bourne' come from?"

He was silent.

I frowned. "Bourne" was an old English name for stream, like the north-country "burn." Many villages had "bourne" in their name, like Pangbourne, Fishbourne, Nutbourne. "Are you going to tell me anything else?"

"Not now."

"But-"

"All in good time, my sweet. You need to think about what I've said, and if you remember, I wanted to speak with you."

I nestled against him like a bird that has found her home. Suddenly I didn't care where he'd come from, only what he meant to me now.

He held me close. "Would he lock you up?"

"Is that why you wanted to see me?"

He nodded. "Would he harm you?"

I froze. Richard loved me, and yet- "I would have to hide you somewhere."

"But I am the d.u.c.h.ess of York."

"Today is the twentieth day of August. I will return on the morning of the twenty-third to await your answer. I will meet you in the great hall of the castle where you hold your public audiences."

"But that's too dangerous."

"It will not be dangerous, I a.s.sure you."

"But how?"

"You will see, my sweet. Be sure to wear your pearl dress that day." He kissed my hand, bowed, and vanished.

Next day, I took to my bed. "Whatever shall I do when Richard returns?" I asked Margaret, when she came to visit me with Bess.

"Perhaps he'll not know."

Bess kissed my cheek.

"Are you not angry?" I asked.

"Why?"

"You liked him well."

"Indeed I did," replied Bess.

"Why did you leave me alone with him at the abbey?"

She patted my hand and smiled. "I have never seen two people so in love as the two of you. I knew you could not have long with your husband returning. I thought such lovers deserved to have some precious moments together."

Annette entering my chamber woke me. She carried Joan, who sobbed hard.

I cuddled her on my lap. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Madam, I know not," replied Annette. "Lady Joan seemed in good spirits this forenoon. I put her down for a nap, as I usually do. But she awoke screaming. I can do nothing with her."

I turned to the limp figure in my lap, gently cupping my hands around her little face. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Mama, Mama," sobbed Joan, her tears making a wet patch on my silken chemise.

I stroked her hair and rubbed her back. "Come now, my dearest child. Tell me what troubles you so. Mama is here. You are safe. Whatever is wrong?"

Joan lifted a tear-stained face. "Don't leave!" She buried her face in my gown and sobbed.

I stiffened. "What is this?"