“Philippe de Roche,” he said, glad the answer was so easy. “He is a powerful man in Rouen. And, as a member of the Burgundy faction, he is allied with us for the time being. From what I hear, his only true loyalty is to himself.”
“Then he is no different from most of these French nobles,” the king said, disapproval heavy in his voice.
“De Roche will not wish to bind himself to an English lady,” Robert said, “until he is certain which way the wind blows.”
“Since most of his lands are under our control, he will agree to the marriage,” the king said with a smile. “But will it keep him loyal?”
Robert shrugged. “It will, at least, preclude him from making a marriage alliance unfavorable to us.”
“I have reason to hope for more,” the king said. “My uncle reports that this particular lady is blessed with both a strong will and great beauty.”
Robert had no interest in the young widow’s attributes.
“Perhaps you met her in your travels?” the king said. “Her name is Lady Isobel Hume—her father is Sir Edward Dobson.”
The blood drained from Robert’s head so rapidly he swayed on his feet. Margaret’s daughter. The king was speaking of Margaret’s daughter. Coming here. To Caen.
“ ’Tis many years since I traveled to the north,” Robert said, struggling to keep his features smooth. “But I believe my troupe did perform for her father’s household once or twice.”
Pretty little Isobel, so like her mother. She sat at his feet for hours listening to him sing ballads and recite tales. Her favorites were those of King Arthur.
“She was a lovely child,” he said and regretted the wistful tone that crept into his voice.
“Well, she is no child now,” the king snapped. “I do not know what I shall do with her until the marriage can be arranged. There are no English noblewomen here into whose care I may put her. She has a brother with Gloucester’s army, but it will take time to bring him to Caen.”
“Put her into my care until the brother comes.” The words were out of Robert’s mouth before he thought them.
“A young lady? In your care? Do you take me for a fool!”
“Believe me, I do not want this burden,” Robert said, putting his hands up. “If you had anyone else, I would not own up to my obligation.”
“Obligation?” the king demanded. “What obligation?”
Obligations. Consequences. What lad of sixteen considers these when he believes himself in love? That summer in Flanders, he and Margaret sneaked off every chance they got.
“We are distant relation, through our families in Flanders,” Robert said, knowing bits of truth always improve a falsehood. “If you doubt it, ask Lady Hume if she has a Flemish grandmother.”
The king narrowed his eyes at Robert, considering.
“She is a widow, not a young girl,” Robert reminded him. “She does not need a guardian.”
“Still, I must do something with her,” the king grumbled.
“I give you my pledge, the lady will be safe with me.”
The king nodded; Harry always did like a pledge.
“But you shall watch over her,” the king said, shaking his finger in Robert’s face, “as a father watches over a daughter.”
Robert’s throat tightened. God knew, he was late to the task. And wholly unsuited.
But he would do his best.
Chapter Four
November 1417
Stephen strode through the bailey yard, his thoughts sour after spending an entire morning resolving a dispute between two whining merchants. Praise God, he had the afternoon free to train with William and Jamie. He needed to wield a sword until his muscles ached and the sweat poured from his skin.