Princess Of France (The Queen's Pawn Book 2) by Christy English

Author:Christy English [English, Christy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liaison - A Next Chapter Imprint
Published: 2020-07-06T18:00:00+00:00

13

To Court a King

William held my daughter in front of the priest, wearing the King’s gloves, standing before God in my brother’s stead. I stood back, though I had given birth to her. As Marie Helene and my husband flanked the child, I felt as if my dead had gathered before that altar with me, my father, my daughter Rose, and the mother I never knew.

As I watched my second child brought into the family of God, I thought of my mother. She had not lived to see me christened but had died the day I was born. And yet I seemed to feel her presence clearly on that day, more than any other. She had not come to stand with me at my wedding, nor did she stand with me at any other child’s naming day. But on that day, late in June, I felt her hand on mine as my husband held the child who was not his and claimed her as his own.

There was a feast that day, though my daughter was not present. After she was baptized and blessed, Marie Helene took the baby to her rooms and watched over her as the nurse fed her and put her to bed. So, I was alone at my husband’s table, seated at his right hand. He shared his trencher with me. We said little, content with the peace between us, both satisfied to listen to the wild talk all around. For many of his young friends were back from the Levant, rich with loot, bringing gifts to William of silk and spices. One even brought a bolt of deep blue damask, so that my women might make a gown for me.

We listened to these young men talk, and I felt my age. My husband seemed to see something of this in my face, and he smiled at me.

“Lady, you are as fair as the day I met you.”

I smiled back. We had been married a little over a year at this time, and he had not known me long. “And you are as valiant, husband.”

William made no secret of his distaste for war, a distaste that never brought him censure. My brother had used this distaste to his advantage. Knowing that William would not ride off to war, Phillipe had married him to me.

He took my good-natured teasing for what it was, bringing my gloved hand to his lips. He opened his mouth to respond in kind, perhaps a joke about my hair, which still curled against my shoulders, unencumbered by a wimple or veil, but the words died in his throat.

For we heard a raucous cheer as young men at the end of the high table raised beakers of wine. A man stood among them, toasting my brother. “To the prowess of our King, who throws down all his enemies!”

Another cheer went up at this. William signaled the servers to bring more wine, though he did not raise a glass himself. I, too, sat in silence,

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