The King's Concubine

Chapter Eight

A sense of unease touched my spine, like the light scratch of a lover’s fingernail on delicate skin. I shivered, every sense alert. Then, since there was no repetition, I concentrated once more on the explosion of ill temper unfolding before me.

This was a high-powered, formal reception, deliberately staged: King and Queen seated in carved chairs on the dais in the largest of the audience chambers at Westminster. Before them swaggered a young man, just entering his third decade, boldly clad with all the éclat of indulged youth. Despite his shining arrogance he bowed deeply, his entourage following suit. And what an impressive escort it was, weapons as visible as the jewels and embellished tunics. Philippa beamed, but the King was not in a mood to admire.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

“I can do no more in that godforsaken, bog-ridden province.” The young man was not rebuffed by the King’s displeasure. Undeniably handsome, he had a hardness, a carefully shuttered expression, and a shocking lack of reverence. “I wash my hands of Ireland and all to do with the bloody Irish.”

“Wash your hands? You young fool! Did you think it would be an easy task? What in God’s name have you been doing?” Edward strode down from the dais to strike the young courtier on the shoulder, a punch of a fist, not entirely a sign of affection. “Are you trying to destroy all my good work in that damned province by leaving as soon as you meet opposition? Before God, Lionel…!”

So this was Lionel, Edward’s second son to survive the rigors of childhood. Handsome, stylish, ambitious, and King’s Lieutenant of Ireland for the past handful of years, he possessed an abundance of charm, so smooth and slick as to be like a coating of goose grease on the chest of a sniveling child. Still, his unwarranted return had brought a flutter of excitement to stir the dark days of the Court. At least Lionel, newly made Earl of Clarence in Edward’s birthday generosity, had brought a smile back to the Queen’s face. For that I could look on him with more favor than I was at first inclined.

“That’s unfair, Sire! I met opposition from the first day I set foot there!”

“I’ve a good mind to send you back as soon as you can saddle a fresh horse.…”

“No, Edward…No!” Philippa could not stand. It was a bad day for her. “He is our son!”

“And a thorn in my flesh! No son of mine would have abandoned his charge. We’ll have the whole place up in arms before we can sneeze.”

“I see no cause for the peasants to object.…” Lionel’s voice had acquired an unpleasant whine.

“Of course they will object!” Edward continued to stand eye to eye with him. “Your job was to keep the peace, not stir the hornets’ nest!”

“Oh, Lionel…” The Queen stretched out her hands.

The young man promptly evaded his father and fell to his knees before the Queen, where he bowed his head in unctuous regret. “Mother. Forgive me.…”

“My dearest Lionel.”

“I can explain.…”

“I’m sure there were reasons.…”

“But will my father listen?” He angled a sly glance from his mother’s face toward the King. As for the rest of us, we might not have existed in this complex throwing down of a family gauntlet.

Ah…!

The chill, that same strange sensation of awareness, brushed along my spine again. And again I shivered, an unpleasant prickle of cold on nape and arm. It fluttered over my skin, strong enough that it was almost a knowledge. Someone in this room was taking note of me, watching me. Someone had more than a passing interest in me. I looked around, over the men of Lionel’s entourage, but nothing came to snatch at my interest. I could see no face turned toward me. All were intent on the standoff between king and errant son. And why should anyone single me out? Here I was simply one of the damsels, anonymous, faceless, to serve and support the Queen.

Yet the feeling remained. Someone had an eye for me.

“Your father will listen,” Philippa urged, soothed. “But not now. Later. When we have celebrated your homecoming. Five years—it’s five years since I saw you last.” Her face was luminous with maternal delight.

Edward expressed as little delight as he had admiration, but he exhaled on a grunt. “I suppose the recriminations can wait. Your mother’s glad to see you. You need some lessons in managing a difficult province—not everything can be solved with a show of force and sharp-toothed legislation. It needs…” He closed his teeth on what was about to become a lecture in high politics. “But we’ll feast your return first.”

He gave the signal for the audience to end. As I began to help the Queen to her feet, I felt that same scrutiny, as if it were stripping away my skin to peer into my soul. But only Wykeham was interested in my soul, and he was still constructing battlements at Windsor. Quickly I looked up, around, determined to catch the culprit who dared to stare at me—and there he was. One of Lionel’s coterie, he pinned his gaze on me in a vulgar stare.

I refused to return the contact. I would not be intimidated. I allowed my gaze to rove innocently over the ranks as if I sought someone I knew. And all the time I was aware that his gleaming appraisal did not waver.

Who was he?

How dared he!

So be it. Without pretense, I returned his regard, stare for stare.

He was a bold man, for sure. He neither looked away nor smiled in apology. He was older than the Prince but by no more than ten years, to my assessment. He had a harsh face, but was not unattractive—if it were not for the saturnine lines drawn from nose to mouth. No, he was not a handsome man. Clean shaven, I noted, not the usual fashion of the day, and his dark hair closer cropped than the prevailing mode. His eyes were unremarkable in color, dark rather than light, but direct and with no embarrassment at being detected staring at one of the Queen’s damsels. His jaw was disfigured by a faint scar that showed white against skin ruddy from recent campaigning. His clothes were of fine quality but functional, as was his sword, a good steel blade without decoration. As for the jewels of a courtier, alone of all the company he wore none, but I did not think that he lacked the means, rather the inclination. His mouth was set in an uncompromising line. I imagined he gave away no secrets—unless he wished to.

He was a soldier rather than a courtier, I decided. And no, I did not know him.

I lifted my brows, forcing him into a reaction, and he made a curt little inclination of his head. It pleased me to give no acknowledgment whatsoever; I turned my back on him to take the Queen’s missal into safekeeping as she made her slow progress to her rooms, Lionel beside her. I followed, feeling that stare continuing to stab between my shoulder blades until we had left the room.

Well! I did not like Lionel overmuch. I liked even less this man in Lionel’s company who had had the impudence to single me out. He had too many dark corners for my liking.

In regal style, the King ordered a celebration. Edward reveled in celebrations. It was his delight to glory in splendor in which he could play the central role. Was there ever a king to match him, one who could prance and flap with supreme confidence in the gilded costume of a gigantic bird, purely for the entertainment of his children? But not on this occasion. This was a feast with a scant nod in the direction of music and dancing but little else: barely enough of a spectacle to drain the contempt for Lionel’s failures in Ireland from Edward’s face. Edward handed a purse of coin to Andrew Claroncel, his favorite minstrel, to end the singing barely before it had begun. All in all it promised to be a long evening. I took my seat below the high table with a sharp glance at the man who had been placed beside me on my right.

My companion for the feast was the insolent man from the audience chamber. And I would have wagered my sables that it was no coincidence he had the stool next to me. How had he achieved that? A bribe passed smoothly into the palm of Edward’s steward? His eyes that raked my face—dark gray, I noted now at far too close quarters—were as audacious as I had first thought.

“Mistress Perrers.”

He stood until I had taken my seat, and it pleased me to make him wait, shaking out my skirts and disposing them elegantly. And wait he did, forcing me to admit that his manners were excellent. With a bland courtesy and a neat bow he finally sat, his actions brisk and controlled, but with a surprising elegance. So he had not spent all his life in the saddle; he had absorbed some of the skills of the courtier, even in Ireland.

“You know my name, sir.” I met his open appraisal with studied disinterest. “How is that?”

“You are not unknown at Court, mistress.” His voice was smoother than I had expected, and his reply interestingly enigmatic. I thought he masked the full truth. “You are even spoken of in Ireland,” he added.

So he hoped I would ask what was said of me. I would not. I picked up my cup and drank from it.

“What I don’t know,” he pursued, imperturbable, “is what is your family?”

And I remembered, the past suddenly stark and bleak in my mind. The gossip of my infancy. The abandoned child. The bastard of a whore and a common peasant. The purse of gold coins that might or might not have ever existed. And I shrugged. None of it mattered now. But I resented his stirring of the memories.

“I have no family,” I remarked.

And I turned my back, leaning over to exchange views with an elderly knight who sat on my left. It was astonishing, the range of topics I could find to discuss with this aging soldier, who looked askance at me and showed more interest in his food. I sighed, weary of his monosyllabic responses. And was unwise enough to glance in my silent companion’s direction. He was watching me with rare humor.

“Well?” I should not have responded, but I did.

“Have you finished at last?” he asked, showing his teeth in a smile that made me instantly wary. “I would not have believed your conversation could be so fatally dull, lady. Sir Ralph must have fallen asleep with the excitement of it. Even I could find it difficult to be enthusiastic about the length of time it takes the Court to transport itself from Havering to the Tower of London!”

“At least I had the good manners to talk to my neighbor, sir,” I retaliated. “You have failed lamentably.” He had not exchanged one word with the damsel on his other side.

How did I know? Well, I had listened, hadn’t I?

“I thought you might wish to know my name,” he remarked inconsequentially.

“Not particularly. But since we are trapped here together for the length of this meal…Who are you?” I could not resist after all. Oh, I knew who he was well enough—I had used my time effectively between audience and feast—but it would not hurt to dent his male pride. “Since you know my name, sir, it would be only common courtesy to tell me yours. And since you arranged to sit beside me…”

With a glint of appreciation in his eye, he waited until a page had refilled both our cups with a smooth Bordeaux. He sipped slowly before placing the cup at his elbow. He would make me wait too. I might have smiled, but did not, suspecting that this man would be quick to detect weaknesses in friend and enemy alike, and be even quicker to make use of them. So far I had no idea into which category I fell.

“I am William de Windsor, madam.”

I gave an impertinent lift of my shoulder, a gesture I had watched Isabella employ with finesse.

He was unimpressed. “I have worked in Ireland, for the Earl of Clarence.”

Which told me no more than I already knew. He was looking at me, still smiling, and to my discomfort I found that my blood flowed warmly into my face.

“Why were you staring at me?” I asked.

“I find you interesting.”

“Interesting? You make me sound like a new battle plan!”

“I think we are very alike, madam.”

“Are we? I don’t see it, William de Windsor. You are far prettier than I.”

That took him aback. He gave a bark of a laugh. “And you are more forthright than I had anticipated. An unusual trait in a woman. In my experience women usually dissemble.”

“I do not.” I imagined that his experience with women was as wide as the Thames at Tilbury. “Tell me why we are alike.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will. Not yet.” He raised his cup in a little toast.

And I turned back to make another dull stab at conversation with Sir Ralph, as if Windsor’s reply did not engage my interest. But it did. He knew it did. He waited until my knight buried himself in his platter of roast venison, and picked up the conversation as if there had been no hiatus.

“I’ve changed my mind, Mistress Perrers. You are a woman worthy of my confidence, so I’ll tell you the manner of our similarity. We are both ambitious.”

I stared at him.

“We are both self-interested.”

Again I kept my counsel, watching him over the rim of my cup.

“We both come from nothing.”

I would not respond. What was this man implying?

“Have you not one acerbic comment to make to my observations, Mistress Perrers?”

“Do we both come from nothing, sir?”

“In the order of things, yes, we do. My father was a minor knight who made no name for himself in his long life. Windsor of Greyrigg, a poor backwater in Westmoreland with nothing to recommend it but sheep and rain. I abandoned Greyrigg as fast as I could and became a soldier, as any ambitious lad would. Fame, fortune, wealth—that’s what I wanted, and that’s what I got. I fought at Poitiers and made a name for myself. In recent years I have attached my star to Lionel. He may not be perfect, but I consider him to be the most able of the royal brood.” I found myself laughing at so flagrant a criticism, regardless of who might be listening, as Windsor’s eyes shifted to where Lionel sat next to the Queen, entertaining her with wit and sparkle. Then he came back to me.

“We have both made our way in the world. You as a damsel to the Queen”—his remarkable lack of expression told me that he knew exactly the nature of my relationship with the King—“and I as one of Lionel’s counselors.”

“And this is of interest to me, Sir William, because…?”

He frowned. “I’m not sure, if truth be told. But for some reason I feel our stars might rise together.”

Now, that intrigued me, but I raised my brows in some species of mild interest.

“My skills are in fighting and hardheaded administration,” he pursued without self-deprecation. “What are yours? How bright will your star shine?”

I flushed. The implication was obvious, his stare as sharp-pointed as Master Humphrey’s boning knife, but I refused to be needled into indiscretion. “I think my star shines very brightly without your intervention, sir.”

“Not as bright or as fast as mine, mistress. Military service allows an able and ambitious man to build up a goodly fortune.”

“Through embezzlement, corruption, ransom money, and loot?” I had done more than a little investigating of my own.

He laughed, a cheerful note above the noise of the roisterers, causing a few eyes to turn in our direction. “You have been gossiping, Mistress Perrers.”

“I have, Sir William.”

“And you knew my name from the first.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I can’t blame you for it. It’s a wise man who knows who he deals with.”

“And, undoubtedly, a wise woman.” I leaned a little closer to murmur in his ear, “But I will not deal with you.”

He took the time to carve through a collop of beef, offering me some choice cuts from the platter. I shook my head.

“What do you want, Mistress Perrers?”

“I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

“Well, I’m not speaking of the choice between the venison or the beef—the beef’s excellent, by the by; you should try some. If you are a woman of good sense—and I think you are—you should consider where you will be in ten years. It’s not a life position that you hold, is it? I’d say you could add up the years left to you at Court on the fingers of your two exceptionally capable hands. Life is finite, is it not?”

And because I understood him perfectly, and it was not the length of my life he was discussing, I followed his eye to where the King sat, leaning back in his chair, listening to Lionel make his excuses. Edward looked well and at ease, but the creep of age was relentless. As for Philippa, her life hung by a fraying thread. William de Windsor was right, damn him. I had no security of tenure here.

And had I not known it from the very beginning? The fear that was always present in me began to stir into life again, dull and nagging like the pain from a bad tooth.

“He’ll not last forever, Mistress Perrers. What’s for you then?”

My breath caught at this outrage, fear ousted by anger that this man should read my thoughts. “What is it to you?” I snapped. “You’re remarkably well-informed in Ireland.” A knot of resentment made my tone hostile.

He was oblivious to it. “It pays to be so if you wish to make your way in life.”

“Some would say you’ve done quite well enough for a man of little consequence.”

“Oh, no. They would be wrong. My foot is barely on the ladder. I’ll climb higher yet.”

Such arrogance! I was right in my first assessment: I did not like William de Windsor. I studied Edward, remembering his reaction to Lionel’s mishandling of Ireland, recalling the disdain that flattened his fine features as he had cast an eye over Lionel’s minions. It gave me pleasure to turn the blade in Windsor’s gut.

“I think you’re wrong, sir. The King does not like you.”

“He may not like me but he needs me.”

I choked on a sip of wine. Would nothing put him down? “To do what?”

“To handle Ireland. It’s not a task for a squeamish man. The King trusts my decisions. He may not like them, but still he’ll send me back to Ireland with even more power than I had under Lionel.”

“You are so sure of yourself!” I mocked.

“Am I not,” he replied, cheerfully unrepentant. “And uncommonly perceptive. Take heed of my advice, Mistress Alice! Look to your future!”

And after that unwarranted familiarity, for the rest of the meal he gave his attention to the damsel on his other side, presenting me with a view of his perfect silk-covered shoulders, leaving me to the mercy of Sir Ralph, who gobbled the meat and bread as if the meal were his last. I yawned with boredom, until the trestles were cleared. William de Windsor waited for me as I stood to leave the chamber.

“Will you take some more wise advice, Mistress Perrers?”

“I doubt it.” I was ruffled, intrigued beyond good sense, and in no mood to be wooed by this wolf that did not even bother to adopt sheep’s clothing.

“Who is your enemy? And don’t say you have none.”

“You, probably.”

“I’m no enemy of yours, Mistress Perrers! Think of some others who would do you ill.”

“And if I do?”

“Be aware. Be cleverer than your enemy. That’s the best advice I can offer. And if you ever need help to keep that enemy at bay, I am your servant. Don’t let your unaccountable animosity toward me sway you.” He bowed and kissed my hand, even as I felt an urge to snatch it from him. “And no, you are not pretty. But before God, you are the most striking woman of my acquaintance. How old are you?”

Holy Virgin! “I am twenty-two years. And how old are you, sir?”

“Thirty-seven!” he replied promptly.

“And are you wed, sir?” I asked sweetly, on impulse, while his fingers enclosed mine, warm and firm.

“Why?” He cocked a brow.

“I wondered whether you had a son to inherit this great wealth you see yourself earning.”

“No. I have not. I am not wed.”

“Good. Or I would have to pity the poor lady you took to wife.”

His grin was sharp and uncomfortably attractive.

I remembered nothing of what I ate at that meal. The minstrels might as well not have opened their mouths for all the notice I took.

My exchange with William de Windsor at Lionel’s feast was, it appeared, damnably on display, and I wished it undone. Not because I said or did anything amiss. On the contrary, I had guarded my tongue in the presence of this knight I considered to be more than dangerous. But I found that my reactions to him were unstable. I had no wish to talk about him.

“What did that rogue Windsor have to say to you?” Eagle-eyed as ever for who said what to whom, Edward lost no time in interrogation, his growled demand taking precedence over any loverlike endearments when I sat in the middle of his bed. Perhaps there was more than a dash of jealousy in his unsubtle demand. The Plantagenet had an eye to his own.

“Nothing,” I replied, hands folded neatly in my lap. “Nothing that was not to puff up his own self-aggrandizement. The man speaks of no one but himself.” Not quite true, but close enough.

“Hmm.” Edward’s brow furrowed in familiar disquiet. He began to loose my hair from its neat braids, although I thought his mind was not on the pleasures of the flesh. Windsor had even infiltrated the royal bedchamber. Edward tugged persuasively against my hair. “What do you make of him?”

“I don’t like him.”

“Nor do I. Would he be honest in government, d’you think?”

“I doubt it.”

Edward grunted a laugh. “Well, that’s plain enough. Would he be loyal to me?”

“Yes, if it brought him money and power.” Which was as honest as I could be.

“You seem to have read the man in some depth in so short a time.” The frown was back, now turned on me.

“It wasn’t difficult.” I smiled disingenuously. “A more boastful man I have yet to meet. He thinks you will make use of him—send him back to Ireland.” The frown deepened, so I turned my head to plant a kiss on his hands where they were wound into my hair. “Will you use him?”

“I’m not sure. I think he’s got a chancy kick in his gallop.”

So did I, and perhaps not for the same reasons.

Wykeham, returned to Court on the occasion of the feast, was less than polite. Our steps fell into line after Mass the next morning. He had not officiated but stood toward the back of the small body of courtiers. I had noticed him when I had glanced over my shoulder to see whether Windsor was present. My lips curled in high-minded satisfaction as I noted that he was not. But Wykeham was there. And he had waited for me by design.

“I see Windsor has singled you out,” he stated without preamble.

“It is good to see you again too, Wykeham,” I remarked. “Perhaps you are even pleased to see me?” Wykeham had achieved a remarkable elevation: Bishop of Winchester and Lord High Chancellor of England—high indeed for a man whose main interest was the supreme angle of a buttress to prevent a castle wall from collapsing on hapless soldiery. For his impertinence, it pleased me to needle him a little. “Or are you now too important to take note of one such as I?”

“It’s always an experience, mistress, to converse with you.” Wykeham refused to acknowledge my pert jibe. “Why do you think Windsor is sniffing ’round your heels?”

“Is he?” I sighed. “I have no idea.”

“I’ll tell you why. To get the ear of the King.”

“Then he won’t succeed. I’m no friend of Windsor’s. Do you consider me gullible, to be flattered and taken in by every ambitious office seeker?”

I stared at him, hoping for an apology. There was no apology from the King’s new Chancellor.

“I consider that you lack experience when dealing with a man of his mettle,” Wykeham announced, pausing between every word, the echoing thud of his steps providing counterpoint. “He’s proud, ruthless, avaricious, ambitious, opportunistic, and quite without principle.”

“You omitted talented.” I smiled at his glower. “And who isn’t guilty of any one of those entirely useful commodities at this Court, my lord?”

Wykeham scowled.

“Even you, sir. Pride and ambition seem to me to be fair game for a priest newly appointed Lord Chancellor.”

With a curtsy and a swish of my skirts, I left him standing at the door to the Queen’s chambers.

Philippa pursed her lips. “I’d not trust him. I wonder why Lionel finds him such good company.”

“I have no idea, my lady,” I replied.

“You did not find him entertaining at the feast?”

I took a steadying breath. Had our conversation gone unnoticed in any quarter?

“No. I can’t say that I did, my lady.”

Good company? Entertaining? He had been positively sinister, the manner in which he had poked at my anxieties, undermining my carefully constructed self-possession. Within twenty-four hours of our meeting, it was as clear as the bell on Edward’s clock: No one liked or trusted William de Windsor.

The question I was driven to ask myself: Did I?

For William de Windsor had an unpleasant habit of stepping into my thoughts and trampling any attempt I made to dismiss him.

I was present, in attendance on the Queen, when Edward summoned Lionel, flanked by Windsor, to a council of war, to hammer out the thorny matter of Irish administration. Philippa rarely concerned herself with matters of business or politics these days, but her concern for Lionel, and her fear for her husband’s temper, brought her to the council table. I was not displeased. How could I have found a reason for being there, to watch Windsor in action, if the Queen had not made it easy for me? I wanted to hear Windsor’s excuses for his own involvement in the Irish problems. I wanted to see him squirm.

The King did not use his words with care or reticence.

“God’s Bones, Clarence! I thought a son of mine would have more backbone.”

“Do you have any idea what it is like?” Lionel challenged with what I considered to be an unfortunate degree of heat. “The native Irish are untamable. The English born in Ireland are loyal to the English throne only when it suits them. The only lot you can rely on are the English born in England, and they, to a man, are naught but a rascally band of brigands.”

“So you hold the balance between them! Do you leave the province in turmoil and make a run for it, leaving them to wallow in their own blood?”

“I feared for my life.” Lionel’s pretty face was unattractively surly.

“I expect you to communicate with them, not ban them from your august presence! I expect you to get them to trust you! And don’t make excuses for him,” he snapped at Philippa, who had placed a hand on Edward’s arm, as if it were possible to stem the tirade. “Your son is a coward. You’re lily-livered, Lionel.” As his ire grew, Edward became colder, the skin taut and white around his lips, his eyes pale with ice. “In my day…”

I slid my gaze to William de Windsor. His attention appeared to be focused on the carved wainscoting behind the King’s right shoulder. How would leaves and tendrils deserve such concentration? Then his eyes moved to mine…but I could not read them. Anger or caprice or even a cool distancing—impossible to say, but an unexpected self-consciousness came to me. I looked away, down at my clasped hands.

“As for the army.” The King brought his fist down hard onto the wood, causing the metal cups to ring and jump. “I hear there’s rape and pillage committed by my forces in my name. I hear they’re forced to loot to maintain themselves. What happened to the revenues I directed toward Ireland? What happened to the taxes? Whose pockets did they disappear into…?” Without warning, Edward swung ’round in his chair to change his target. “I hear no good of you, Windsor.”

And what would William de Windsor have to say about that? I was holding my breath. Did I want him to emerge victorious from this bout, or be buried under the justice of Edward’s recriminations? I did not know.

Windsor was entirely undismayed, his harsh features an essay in composure. His voice held neither slick apology nor Lionel’s aggression. I should not have been surprised.

“I admit the problems in the province,” he replied. “I carry out orders, Sire, to the best of my ability. I was paid what was due to me. My lord of Clarence is King’s Lieutenant; his is the authority. I am merely a loyal servant of the Crown.”

It was a formidable statement of innocence.

“You’re quick to slough off any blame, Windsor,” Lionel snarled.

“I suppose you take no action on your own authority,” Edward demanded of Windsor, waving his son to silence.

“No, Sire,” Windsor responded, undisturbed, outwardly at least, by either the King’s contempt or Lionel’s fury. Against my better judgment, he won my acclaim.

“You think Ireland’s a lost cause?”

Windsor thought for a long moment, as if it were a new idea, studying his hands that were placed flat, palms down, on the council table before him. If he said yes, he would displease the King; if no, then Lionel’s excuses would be undermined by one of his own officers. Which way would he jump? Windsor raised his eyes and cast his dice.

“No, Sire. I do not.”

He did not even look toward Lionel. He had known what he would say from the outset. He had his future entirely planned out, with or without Lionel. Had he not admitted to being ambitious, thoroughly self-interested? He might have omitted unscrupulous, but I recognized it.

“Ireland is dangerous, unpredictable,” Windsor stated. “It’s on the edge of rebellion. But I think it can be remedied. It just needs careful handling.”

“And you could do it.” The King made no effort to hide his distaste.

“Yes.”

“At a cost, I suppose.”

“As you say, Sire,” Windsor concurred. “With enough power and wealth behind me, I’ll whip Ireland into shape.”

“I’ll consider…” Edward fell into an abstraction. His fingers began to tap on the table’s edge. His deliberation stretched out in an endless, uncomfortable silence, and his fingers stilled. His gaze, turned toward the window with its colored glazing, seemed to lose its focus. Those around the table began to stir in their seats. Still the King made no pronouncement. I became aware of the slide of unnerved glances from one man to another around the table as Edward sat motionless, lost in some inner thought.

“Edward!” Philippa demanded his attention. She placed a hand on his arm. And then apparently apropos of nothing, she added, “Edward! We must find Lionel a new wife.”

The King blinked as if drawing back from the edge of some dark precipice.

“Yes, yes. So we must. I have it in mind.” He was uncommonly brusque, although I knew that Lionel’s remarriage after the death of his young wife three years ago now was a matter of policy. A new royal wife would mean the prospect of a new alliance. “But first this other matter…” Edward frowned, hesitated.

“Who will you send, Sire?” asked Wykeham, who had been an observer throughout of the clash of royal tempers, and the unsettling royal indecision at the end. “Who will go to Ireland?”

“I’ll sleep on it.” Edward stood; so did everyone else apart from the Queen. “I’ll give it some thought, Windsor. Come to me tomorrow, Lionel, and your mother and I will consider the merits of a new bride.…”

The council was over with little to say for itself but a lot of bad blood and no outcome. In his youth, I thought that Edward would not have allowed it to be so. Over Philippa’s shoulder as I helped her to her feet, William de Windsor’s eyes met mine, with a victorious gleam. Glancing up, the Queen noticed.

She said nothing but grasped my hand as tightly as she was able.

After Mass the next morning I found Windsor leaning with studied negligence against the wall outside the Queen’s apartments.

“Mistress Perrers. At last.”

His bow was a study in elegance. Or was it no more than a charade? Undecided, I made little attempt at courtesy, with the merest bend of the knee. The Queen would have condemned me for my ill manners.

“Sir William. I did not see you at Mass.”

“That, Mistress Perrers, was because I was not there. Where are you going?”

I inhaled sharply. “Why?”

“I thought I might escort you.”

“To what purpose?”

“Such grace! I had thought better of you, a queen’s damsel—and other things.” Oh, he was a worthy adversary. “Allow me to accompany you, and you will discover my purpose.”

“If you wish.” I strode ahead of him on my errand for the Queen, but not for long. His energetic stride brought him abreast of me soon enough, closer than I liked. I made a show of tweaking the fall of my sleeve. “Perhaps if you attended Mass, sir, prayer and supplication would aid your future.”

“Do you think? I doubt it.”

“Confession, then? It is said to be good for the soul.”

“I’ve found it overrated. Now, you could do much more for my future, Mistress Alice.”

“I?” I honored him with a glance. “What could I possibly do?”

“Persuade the King to send me back to Ireland, of course.”

Truly perplexed, I stopped and turned to look at him, taking in the uncompromising set of his mouth, the reckless gleam in his eye. “I don’t understand why you would wish to return to the scene of your previous debacle.”

“Debacle? No such thing. Have faith, Mistress Perrers—and tell the King I’m his man. The advantages of having a man of my knowledge there, on the ground, would be invaluable. Will you do it?”

I discovered I was in a mood to be uncooperative. Just to see what he would do.

“No.”

“Why not?”

I knew more about this than I was saying. Should I tell him? Or let him find out for himself? No, I would drop the poison into his ear: It would please me to disturb the smooth exterior. “There would be no purpose in my taking up your petition with the King, Sir William.” He was on guard in an instant. My smile was serene. “The King will appoint the Earl of Desmond as the new Governor.”

“What?” Oh, he was shaken, his flirtatious manner cast aside. “What?”

“Desmond. The King will make him the new King’s Lieutenant,” I reiterated.

“Will he, by God!”

“A man of birth and high principle,” I added.

“And a man with the intelligence of a gnat. So I’ve rid myself of Lionel to be saddled with Desmond!” All the warning I saw in the expressive face was a furious clamping of lips before Windsor strode off, leaving me standing.

I laughed at the success of my ruffling. “I see you did not seek me out for the pleasure of my company, Sir William,” I called after him.

At which he promptly marched back, brow black but the formidable control once more in place. “Forgive me—although I think my behavior might have been unforgivable,” he snapped.

“It was.”

Windsor seized my hand and kissed my fingers, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “At least Desmond—unless he’s changed dramatically in recent months—will stir himself to do as little as possible and leave the ordering of affairs to me. It could be worse. I could be saddled with some interfering old goat who couldn’t recognize an insurrection if it fell on his foot.…”

He was striding off again before I could think of anything else to say.

Windsor was at the Mass next morning. He returned my regard with an atrocious parody of religious solemnity, just as his concentration on the raising of the host was unsurpassed. I was impressed with his apparent unquestioning reverence in God’s presence.

Until the end. His grin was quite satanic.

And I was impressed for quite other reasons.

Edward surprised me. Without any advice from me, he ordered Windsor back to Ireland to aid the newly appointed Governor, the Earl of Desmond. Thus a little subtle balancing, I surmised, keeping all parties satisfied and putting an able man at Desmond’s right hand. A politic move, forsooth. So Windsor was to go. I did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that so troublesome an influence should be removed from my life. The decision had more than surprised me.

“I thought you did not like him,” I remarked to Edward when he told me he was planning to send the thrice-damned but clever bastard back to Ireland, where he might, with luck, receive his just deserts, skewered to the heart by the sword of an Irish rebel.

“I don’t. But he understands Ireland.”

“And you don’t fear he’ll use your confidence in him to feather his own nest?”

“Of course he will. But he’s not without talent.”

“Will you send him soon?” I inquired.

“The sooner, the better. It’s a conflagration in Dublin, waiting to happen.”

So William de Windsor’s visit to the Court would be a short one. Good riddance! I decided. But I would make the opportunity to see him before he departed. And why would I do that? Had I no sense?

I had no idea. And sense was definitely in short supply.

I did not know where to find him. Pleading a sore tooth to account for my absence from the solar, I tried all the possibilities, and some I knew to be impossible. Chapel—unlikely—stables, audience chambers, a group of hard-drinking knights in one of the antechambers—now, that I would have expected. There was no sign of him. Had he gone already? Had he left at the crack of dawn under royal orders to get back to the source of his ambitions as soon as possible?

My heart, inexplicably, plummeted.

You fool, I remonstrated. He is nothing to you but a thorn beneath the skin. He could not even find the time to bid you farewell. He likes you as little as you like him.

And yet I had found exhilaration in our cut and thrust that gave no quarter.

I returned to the stables, and was told that he had not gone. His rangy roan was still there, and his pack animals. So where was he? Some whore’s chamber, perchance? But I did not think so. Where might he spend his last day at Court?

And I knew.

Within minutes I was standing outside the room, my ear pressed to the door. And beyond the door I could hear the rumble of voices. Difficult as it was to distinguish them, I elected to wait to find out, still wondering why seeing him meant so much to me. Before I had settled on an answer that did not increase my sense of self-delusion, the door opened and there was my quarry stepping into the corridor. He came from an interview with Edward’s treasurer. Of course he would be discussing finance.…

“Mistress Perrers, as I live and breathe!” He bowed.

“Sir William.” I curtsied.

“I leave tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And you have come to find me to say farewell. How kind of you!”

“Wasn’t it.”

“You could make my final night here memorable. Unless you have other engagements.” His hand was beneath my elbow, and he was leading me toward an unoccupied sunny window embrasure. I pulled my arm away, shocked at the instant physical response that tightened like a fist in my belly. My words were icy.

“Do you think I would slide into your bed, Sir William? Betray my King?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

“We are not all unprincipled.”

“Oh, I think most of us can be, to one degree or another.” It was an uncomfortable echo of what I had said to Wykeham. Windsor’s stare was brazen. “Is he a good lover? Does he satisfy you?”

“You are impudent, sir. And I’ll not betray the King.”

No, I would not betray Edward with one such as William de Windsor, but he was a damnably attractive man for all his impudence. And he surprised me by a sudden change in direction that I was to discover was typical of him. A clever stratagem to unsettle the listener.

“No. I don’t suppose you will. Will you do one thing for me, Mistress Perrers?”

“Since you obviously don’t desire me in your bed, what would that be?”

“Keep me acquainted with Court opinion and any change in royal policy in Ireland.”

So! His interest was political, not personal. A little piqued at his rapid rejection of my charms—how inconsistent can a woman be?—I asked, “What’s it worth?”

“Do I have to pay you?”

I assayed a simper.

And William de Windsor kissed me. Not a kiss of passion or of affection, but a firm pressure of his lips at the corner of my mouth, like a promise of what might be.

And in instant response, without thought, I struck him with the flat of my hand against his cheek.

Windsor gave a shout of laughter. “Sweet Alice! Such lack of control!”

“Such lack of respect!” I was shocked equally by both his action and mine, and fought to claw back the control. My heart was beating faster; my blood was hot, and not from the heat of the sun through the glass. “I see you’ve learned your manners amongst the sluts of Dublin.”

“I match my manners to my company, mistress.”

As his gaze disrobed me down to my skin, my control flew out of the window. I reached out to strike him again, fast as a snake, but he caught my wrist and dragged it to his mouth, kissing the soft skin where my blood beat like a military drum.

“Tempestuous Alice! But seriously.” He released me as fast as he had taken possession. “Keep me informed. And get what you can for yourself. Without the King or Queen to cushion the blows, your enemies will swoop in and swallow you up. Unless your goal is to return to the gutter, fill your coffers now.”

“I’m not so mercenary.”

“We’re not discussing something so trivial as being mercenary, woman! It’s self-preservation. If you don’t look to yourself whilst the power is to hand, no one else will. And if you’re thinking, ‘Does this make me too hard, too avaricious?’—then consider this: Who will give you a moment’s thought the day that Edward goes to his grave?”

I shook my head, horrified by the picture he had thrust so forcefully into my mind.

“Answer me, Alice.”

For a moment I saw compassion in his face. I hated to see it, but I replied with the truth. “No one.”

With Philippa and Edward dead, the Prince would wear the crown, and Fair Joan would be his consort. There would be no place for me in Joan’s Court.

“Did you think to be damsel to Joan the Whore?” Windsor asked.

His crude words, startling me with their mirror image of my own thoughts, drove home my predicament. It was the last thing I could envisage. As long as she was in Aquitaine I need not fear her, but returned to England she would be no friend to me. I recalled her scorn, her disdain of all things lowborn, her contempt for me.

“Even provision for your sons will not be secure. Have you thought of that?”

My hot blood ran cold and sluggish, but I tried to ward it off. “I am not in any danger. Nor am I without resources.”

“Two tuns of Gascon wine for service to the Queen? Edward is hardly generous!” His laughter was hard and humorless.

“I have property…” I insisted.

“Enough to allow you to live as you do now?” Windsor fired back.

“I have manors and town property.…” I clung on desperately to what I had hoped would keep poverty at bay.

“So your manors and town properties will keep the wolf from your door, will they, in the hard times? You’ve had a taste of life cushioned by royal wealth. Will you be willing to accept less? It’s a long winter when you have nothing. I should know. But if you will not be open to my advice…”

“I never said that.”

“No. You didn’t. But give it some thought.”

I studied the harsh lines of his face, the marks of his experience, not all of them pleasant.

“Why do you do this?” I asked. “Why do you bother yourself with my future? I am nothing to you.”

With one hand he raised my chin, tilting my face to the light, and I allowed it, since I had asked the question. But what would I make of the answer?

“In all honesty, I don’t know,” he said softly, as if searching in his mind for a reason that did not wish to be discovered. “You’re cross and perverse and not my sort of woman at all. But for some strange reason I would not wish to see you bereft. Now, why should that be?”

I chose not to answer that question. Were we both dissembling? My own emotions were inexplicably in turmoil. Almost in a panic I turned to go, but his hand sliding down my arm to my wrist stopped me. I looked back over my shoulder.

“Well?” I asked.

“We’ll not meet again.”

For which I am eternally grateful, sprang to my lips. I saw him brace himself, the smallest stiffening, against what I would say. His fingers around my arm tensed. His eyes darkened as if my reply mattered. So—perversely, as he had accused—I said nothing. And his rigid shoulders relaxed.

“Have you nothing to say?”

“Good-bye, Sir William.”

“Well, at least it’s apt.” His mouth had a wry twist. “And will you write?”

“I’ll consider it.”

His hand slid farther until he closed it around my hand.

“This is too public…” I remonstrated.

“I care not. And neither do you. I admire you, Mistress Alice. I admire your strength and your loyalty to the King. I admire your single-mindedness and your refusal to be influenced by any man’s advice—until you know what is right for you.” I must have looked my amazement. Was that how he saw me? “I admire your confidence.” He pressed his lips to the palm of my hand. “I admire your determination to be yourself.”

Windsor looked at me through his lashes. “Do you admire me at all, Mistress Perrers?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Which does not change to any degree what I feel for you. I admire your honesty even though I do not always believe what you say.”

With a little tug on my hand he drew me closer and planted another kiss, this time full on my mouth. His mouth was firm and cool and entirely seductive. The kiss lasted for no time, but it had a warmth that stroked across my skin.

“Farewell, Alice.”

A bow, a wave of his feathered hat, and he was on his way to Ireland.

Thank God!

I could not banish the man from my thoughts.

What did I feel for Windsor? I had as little understanding of that as he had for his feelings for me. I knew my feelings for Edward with the intimacy of long association. Admiration, of course. Respect coupled with an affection born of deep gratitude. Even—when I was in a mind to admit it—the eroticism of forbidden fruit.

But this man who had pushed his way into my consciousness? A far harsher emotion stabbed at me when I recalled the pressure of Windsor’s mouth against mine, against my palm. I did not wish to put a name to this emotion, but he made my flesh shiver, and I was honest enough to admit that it was not distaste.

I wished he had not gone back to Ireland.

Do you admire me at all, Mistress Perrers?

Go away!

You could make my final night here memorable.

I was delighted that he had gone! I scratched at the spot on my palm as if I could erase the memory. There! I need think no more about him.

But I did. He left with me a memento of his deplorable regard and his unwarranted warnings of those who had no cause to love me. In the early morning after his departure, I opened my door to a palace servant, one of the many grooms, judging by his overpowering aroma of horse and straw. He bowed and handed over a leather leash attached to a very youthful wolfhound. Then he left before I could question him.

“Oh.”

It—she—sat obediently and looked at me. I looked back. No letter or introduction came with this creature that eyed me like a juicy bone. First a palfrey, now a hound. Suddenly I, who had no affinity with animals, had acquired a surfeit of them.

“I should tell you,” I informed the creature, “I have no love of dogs, however noble their breeding.”

Unblinkingly, she continued to regard me.

“Why do I know that Windsor sent you to me? And what do I do with you?”

She panted enthusiastically, tongue lolling.

“Send you back to the stables? There’s no place for you in a lady’s rooms.”

The wolfhound sighed.

“As you say! Since I am no lady, I suppose you will stay. Does Windsor think I need a guard dog? But to protect me from whom, I wonder?”

So he did think I might be in danger. I would consider that later.

“What do I call you?” I asked as I walked cautiously ’round the animal. She sank to her belly in a patch of warm sun and closed her eyes. “Windsor, perhaps?” I suggested with a touch of whimsy. They both shared a knowing expression and more than a hint of ruthless will, even when the creature was half-asleep. As soon as I stepped away, she lifted her head, following my movements with heavy-browed eyes.

“I suppose I had better keep you. And I cannot in all conscience call you Windsor. It had better be Braveheart instead.”

When I sat, Braveheart rested her great head on her paws and slept, and I set my mind to pick apart Windsor’s warnings—a far more valuable occupation, I chided, than recalling his kisses. I could not afford to brush aside Windsor’s warnings as inconsequential.

It was time to contact the Tabard at Southwark again.

Greseley had continued to be busy in his and my interests, even to the extent of a little private moneylending. I did not bother overtly with the details of this, leaving my clerk to his own devious devices, discovering my involvement only when the documents of the pertinent court case were sent to me in absentia. One Richard de Kent, a London fishmonger, was sued by Greseley for the return of two hundred marks that I, through Greseley, had lent him. Far more important, my agent had used income from the Gracechurch property to buy for me a life interest in the manor of Radstone in Northamptonshire. And, of course, I had Ardington…and the ambition to buy more.

With a sum of money borrowed from the royal treasury—with Edward’s permission, of course, and to be repaid at a later date—I wrote my orders to Greseley. The manor of Meonstoke was acquired for me. My future suddenly seemed far less insecure.

And what do you have to say about that, Sir William?

I thought he would find something suitably disparaging. If our paths were ever unfortunate enough to cross again.