13 The Queen's Choice by Anne O'Brien

Author:Anne O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

February 1405: Kennington Palace

The day of Saint Valentine, when the birds of the air discover their mates and swear their true love, according to the writings of Geoffrey Chaucer, back in the reign of the now assuredly dead King Richard. An auspicious day for my reuniting with Henry, some would say. I wasted no time in my travelling to Kennington when Henry’s courier informed me that he would be there.

I was strangely nervous but I held my emotions under restraint as I was received with honour and escorted by the chamberlain to where Henry was waiting for me in one of the family chambers. The weariness of travel was on him, I saw immediately as I entered. For once he was not busy with cannon or finance or any other urgent affair. For the first time since I had known him, his hands were not engaged with pen or book or weapon of war. Rather, simply sitting, hands loose on the arms of his chair, head resting on the back, Math at his feet, he had been staring beyond the window towards the south, suspended in a strange calm that was not a calm at all, as if he were waiting for something. Or someone. His face was thinner. How could that be? We had been apart for barely a month, but he looked pared down to bone and muscle. Then the long moments of introspection were set aside, the air of hard-strung tension dissipating as the greyhound rose to greet me. Henry’s mouth softened, but I could not call it a smile.

‘My lady.’ He rose as the chamberlain closed the door quietly at my back, and bowed.

‘My lord.’ I curtsied.

For some reason the occasion demanded the formality. Perhaps it was the setting. The room Henry had chosen had no fire, no soft comfort. The painted tiles and the carved window arches patterned with fitful sunshine were the only decoration.

‘When did you arrive?’ I asked, stretching my hand to his.

‘Two days ago.’ He touched my fingertips with his own, lightly, impersonally.

‘And were the defences against the Bretons as you would have wished?’

Henry acknowledged this with a winged brow. ‘Against a full-fledged French invasion? No. But we will do what we can. Enough of that. I invited you to come here because there are things that need to be said between us.’

‘Which is why I am come to be with you.’

St Valentine, I decided, would find it hard work to cast his shadow over this moment.

‘Do we sit, or do we face each other in combat?’ Henry asked.

‘We sit. I am not here to fight with you, Henry.’

‘Nor I with you. Then come.’ His hand was warm around mine as he led me to the window seat where he seated me beside him before casting an oblique glance in my direction. ‘I have not even kissed you yet in greeting.’

‘I noticed the omission. But, then, I have not kissed you.’

‘We have much ground to make up.’

Which we did, with no difficulty.

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