"I know not, madam," said Annette, going pale.

"Has she talked of this before?"

"No, madam, I don't think so."

"Who has been talking?"

"I would not like to say-"

"Come now," said Margaret, getting up from her place on the window seat. "Remember, your loyalty is to d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee. If someone has upset Lady Joan, she needs to know who."

Annette blanched. "Lady Lisette," she whispered. "She said she would curse me if I told anyone. She told me she would put a spell on me so that I would wither away before my time."

"That's nonsense," exclaimed Margaret. "Lisette should not be saying such wicked things. I'll find her at once and bring her here."

Margaret returned not only with Lisette, but with all the women. Jenet was there, and Margaret's woman, Bess's woman, Lisette's woman, and even Isabel's woman. Keeping Joan on my lap, I faced them all. "For the sake of my children and for peace in my family, I ask you not to gossip."

Lisette smiled.

I handed Joan, now quiet, to Annette and rose. "Was it you?"

Lisette remained silent.

"I find my daughter sobbing her heart out, my maid frightened out of her life-"

"That's nothing to what you did. You broke your marriage vows. You sinned against your husband."

I slapped her across the cheek. "You will say no more. Do you understand?"

Lisette faced me, holding her hand to her cheek. Her eyes flashed. "Why should I help you? You always get what you want."

Margaret interrupted. "If you don't promise," she replied, her gentle grey eyes turned to steel, "I could go to George and hint that his wife's behavior was not what he would have wished."

Lisette jutted out her chin.

"You threw yourself at him every opportunity you got," said Bess.

"He didn't want you," said Lisette, rounding on her.

The room fell silent.

Lisette looked from one to the other, her face flushed, her under lip jutting out. At last, she turned to me and made the sign of the Horned King.

"I curse you, Cecylee! May you have a long and unhappy life!"

I fell into a chair. "You couldn't mean that."

But Lisette had gone.

Chapter 10.

Saint Bartholomew's Eve August 23, 1441 It was a bright hot morning. I sat on the dais in the great hall of the castle of Rouen, struggling to listen carefully to a stream of pet.i.tioners. The steward from Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire wanted to pursue a land dispute. There were several merchants from Rouen wanting to show off their wares. There were people from Normandy seeking redress from the governor's wife over land, marriage settlements gone awry, and taxes.

I shifted in my seat. I should have sent a message to Blaybourne, telling him not to come. But I had somehow forgotten to do so. I drew a handkerchief from my sleeve and dried my moist palms.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded, and a page appeared, a boy of around nine or so, attired in a white satin tunic and hose. He wore white shoes and had a white hat on his head. He approached the dais bearing a ring on a white velvet cushion.

"My master wishes, madam, to present you with this ring."

As he knelt, I moved forward to accept the present. The ring was magnificent. It was a deep blue sapphire, cut into a strange shape, set into silver. It radiated a deep color in the warm sunshine, matching my pearl dress perfectly.

"Shall I ask my lord to approach?"

"Indeed. I should like to thank him for his gift."

I had entertained many diplomats and visitors from other countries arriving with costly gifts. Vague questions entered my head about this particular diplomat, but they left just as quickly. Another fanfare sounded, and this time a procession appeared. They looked like soldiers, men-at-arms, menservants and pages-the sort of people an aristocrat would have traveling with him.

The unknown personage was the last to appear. Like his entourage, he was attired in white. But his tunic came down to his ankles, the long sleeves adorned with fashionable jagged edges. He wore a stylish hat with a piece of material hanging down from it, protecting him from the dust of his journey. Altogether, he looked exotic and foreign, perhaps Italian. Perhaps from a place further to the east. I could not place him as he came closer. He exuded a scent of nutmeg and almonds, with a hint of exotic spices.

As I inhaled deeply, I remembered where I had encountered it before.

But now, the herald was announcing the aristocrat's name: Philippe de Savoy, Count of Geneva.

He bowed and smiled as he held out his hand to take mine.

Then our eyes met.

Of course. His ruse was perfect, for no one would dare challenge a lord of such obvious means.

I swallowed.

The sounds in that bustling hall faded away as he straightened and we faced each other.

"Madam, I have a long journey to make, and I wondered if you would be good enough to give me some advice. I understand that stormy weather may blow in from Pontoise, and I wanted to know whether Rouen would provide a goodly place of shelter."

"No," I replied.

His eyebrows shot up. Silently he proffered his arm so that I had to leave the dais and walk into the hall with him.

His timing was perfect, for the servants were setting up the tables for the midday meal, and we stole some private moments together amidst the hubbub. He led me to an unoccupied window seat: "My sweet, are you sure?"

I was silent.

He took my hand. "My flower, I know how hard this is for you. But I have everything ready. My groom is outside waiting with an Arabian mare. I have spare clothes. You need only throw this cloak over your gown and we can leave."

I jerked away.

"I should have told you before," he murmured.

I clasped my shaking hands together.

"I have more people stationed outside Rouen waiting for us to arrive. You would be safe from your husband. There are many places where I could hide you."

"No," I interposed, looking down.

He waited, taking my hand in his.

After a long moment, I lifted my head. "I cannot go with you."

Abruptly, he let go of me. "Is it because I'm the son of a blacksmith?"

I put a hand on his sleeve. "You could not take me and three children."

"You promised to marry me."

"I cannot leave my children."

"We would have our own children."

I shook my head as I took his hand and kissed it. "If I had no children, I would go with you in a heartbeat."

A sound drowned out our conversation. A rumble of hooves. A fanfare sounded, and a shout went up. The men of the garrison, dicing and lounging in the shade of the trees outside, now scrambled to their feet, straightened their tunics, grabbed their weapons, and lined up in formation along the castle walls.

"They're back!" someone shouted. A roar answered.

His face turned as white as his tunic. "You will not come with me?"

"I cannot."

"You have my ring?" He dug into his tunic and produced another sapphire ring, quickly showing me how his ring fit around mine.

"If you change your mind, send your most trusty messenger to me with this ring. If it fits mine, I will know it comes from you."

"Where should I send the ring?"

"The Medici bank of Florence. They will get a message to me. There is a branch in every big city, including Paris and London."

He bowed low, took my hand, and kissed it. "Always at your service and ever devotedly yours." Then he abruptly pulled away, ran outside, vaulted onto his gelding, and rode off before I had time to breathe.

I ran to the window. In the distance I could make out Richard's pennant bearing his white lion.

Blaybourne rode straight for Richard; my heart slammed against my ribs. He drew his white horse level with Richard's black one, bowed low, and commenced a conversation. Moments later, Richard raised his gauntlet in salutation as the Count of Geneva and his entourage set off south, towards Paris.

I watched and watched until I could see him no more, my mind reeling.

But scarcely had I time to think. I sent orders to the cooks to prepare a more elaborate feast, and for the steward to bring up pipes of the best wine from the cellars. Everyone flooded back to the castle to greet the governor of Normandy and to hear news of the Pontoise campaign.

I slipped upstairs to the solar where Jenet bathed my tear-stained face with rosewater, re-did my hair, and rearranged my headdress. On impulse, I went to the prie-dieu in the corner of my chamber, closed my eyes, and knelt to pray.

Half an hour later, I made my way down to the great hall, into a noisy din of hundreds of guests drinking the health of the governor of Normandy. As I arrived, there was a sudden hush. The men rose and bowed.

My eyes met Richard's. He looked thinner than before, the hard exercise of the previous five weeks showing off a new muscular leanness. I'd never found him so attractive and was overcome with sorrow at what I'd done.

Richard came forward and, taking my hand, courteously led me to the seat beside him.

"Cis," he murmured, as he eyed my pearl-encrusted, blue-grey gown with its yards of billowing silk. "You look ravishing." He kissed me lightly on the cheek, and whispered into my ear, "I can hardly wait until tonight."

And then he turned and resumed his conversation with a gentleman sitting near him.

My hands shook as I sipped my wine.

At length, Richard turned towards me.

"Tell me about the campaign," I said. And so Richard spent the rest of the meal discussing tactics while I asked many questions.

A fanfare of trumpets sounded, heralding a toast. Richard rose, and I rose, forcing a smile onto my face. The whole hall shook as everyone lifted their cups and toasted the newly arrived Duke and his d.u.c.h.ess.

Afterwards, Richard and I, followed by the ladies and their husbands, the army, and the townspeople, rode down into the town of Rouen to celebrate a solemn Ma.s.s of thanksgiving in the cathedral. Then we went back to the castle, where the feasting and merrymaking went on for hours.

I collapsed into an exhausted sleep late that night. Afterwards, I was ill for a week. Every morning brought with it the painful knowledge that I would never see Blaybourne again, and that I'd hurt a good man who loved and trusted me.

I sat on a seat beside the bathing pool, near to where we'd had our tryst, unable to prevent the tears from trickling down my cheeks. I could see him, hear his voice, smell his scent.

Richard frowned and shot several glances at me as he paced up and down. "You have loyal friends here at Rouen. I have asked everyone what is wrong with you, and I get the same response: They avert their eyes, say you will get better in G.o.d's good time, and then change the subject."

I wiped away my tears with the tips of my fingers.

"As your husband, I have a right to know what is going on."

I studied my slippers. "I can't explain."

Richard gently tilted my face so that my eyes met his. His eyes gazed back, darkly. "What can't you explain?"

My head drooped as I drew a line in the dust with the toe of my slipper.

"You had an affair with another man."

My head jerked up. As my eyes met Richard's, he flushed.

"It's true! Christ on the Cross!"

He drew his sword, went to a nearby tree, and whacked it. I recoiled.