He began kissing her neck. When his hand went to her breast, she panicked and blurted out, “Are you with the Armagnacs now?”
De Roche sat back abruptly. In a voice so cold it sent a shiver through her, he said, “What is it that you think you know, Isobel?”
“Nothing, I know nothing,” she said in a rush. “ ’Tis only that I worry about you. These are such dangerous times.”
He remained silent, examining her with narrowed eyes.
“You cannot think the Dauphin would ever make a proper king!” Though a part of her knew she should be quiet, the arguments spewed out of her mouth of their own accord. “By all accounts, the Dauphin is a weak and unworthy youth. And after all the queen’s affairs, many doubt he is the mad king’s true heir.”
God help her, what made her say it! ’Twas too late now for pretense.
“If you are planning to break with King Henry, I beg you not to do it,” she pleaded, “for your sake, as well as mine and our future children.”
“Which one of the servants is telling you these lies?” he demanded. “I promise you, he will regret his loose tongue.”
“Please, Philippe, you must tell me if you have changed loyalties.”
“I must tell you nothing.” His voice was tight with barely controlled rage. “There is but one thing a man must do with his wife. In that you have thwarted me, but not for long.”
“I fear for your safety if you cross King Henry,” she tried again. “He will prevail in the end.”
“Do you intend to tell tales on your husband tonight?” Bits of his spittle hit her face as he spoke. “Do I have a spy in my own home?”
“Nay!” Her voice was high-pitched, panicked. “I would never be disloyal. I want to make a good wife.”
“Then you are unwise to displease me.” He grabbed her wrist. “I warn you, Isobel, do not leave my side tonight.”
Chapter Thirty
Stephen stood before the crowd of well-dressed merchants and nobles in the great hall of the Palais. The reception was to begin with his formal speech pleading King Henry’s case. The king had drafted it himself, taking only a few of Stephen’s suggestions.
As Stephen unrolled the parchment, he scanned the room again. De Roche and Isobel were late.
“King Henry comes not as your conqueror, to take plunder and lay waste to the land, but as your rightful sovereign lord,” he read in a loud voice. “To all who pledge loyalty to him, he will welcome you to his bosom with great joy and generosity.
“But be warned! If you defy him, he will crush you without mercy. He shall claim what is rightfully his. The victor of Agincourt is rolling across Normandy, and none can stop him. God is with him. He will prevail.”
Stephen took a deep breath, glad to have the formal speech over. From Henry’s mouth to their ears: “Crush without mercy.” He hoped the people listening in the hall tonight knew King Henry meant every word.
For the next two hours, Stephen stood at one end of the hall as the city notables took turns coming to pay their respects.
Where is Isobel?
He made himself pay attention to the useless platitudes of each person, listening for hints of what lay beneath. So far, they seemed an overconfident lot. It mystified him how they could believe their city walls could withstand English cannon when the famed “impregnable” walls of Falaise could not.
He heard them boasting to each other. “Burgundy will come to our defense.” “The Armagnacs will never let the great city of Rouen fall.” What made these men think either faction would bring their armies to save Rouen? For months, both stood by as city after city in Normandy fell.
Stephen saw the uneasy expressions on the faces of their wives. If only the decision were in the pragmatic hands of the women, instead of these strutting cocks.
Where was Isobel? The crowd was thinning out, and she and de Roche still had not arrived.
And then he saw her. Politics, war, his official duties—all flew out of his head as Isobel and de Roche came into the hall through a side entrance. Stephen forced his gaze to drift past them. Eventually, de Roche would have to come to him.
De Roche did not delay but came straight to him. And then Isobel stood before him—so close he could have touched her if he reached out his arm. After so long away from her, it took all his will not to sweep her into his arms. He could almost taste her.
How was it possible she was so beautiful? Her skin was pale, though, and she looked thin.
“Have you been ill?” he asked her.