Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,151

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was able. And then she drew herself up and put on a brave face.

“We shall win through,” she said. “I promise you.” And knew her words were so much chaff in the wind.

She rode out of Ludgershall sitting tall in the saddle. She was still lady of the English; nothing could ever take that from her.

But inside, as they rode along, beneath the bandage of pride she was bleeding. With Robert a prisoner, her plans were in ruins because none of her other commanders were of his calibre.

She had lost London; she had lost Winchester and in so doing had failed herself, her allies, and her son. It was too much to bear, yet bear it she must. Her vision blurred and whitened.

She swayed in the saddle and heard Brian’s shout of alarm. She was dimly aware of him catching her, of the feel of his arms around her. She tried to tell him she was all right, that she had just fallen asleep in the saddle, but she couldn’t speak. If not at the end of her courage, she had exceeded the last frayed strand of her bodily endurance.

Her escort constructed a litter for her, woven from willow branches piled with blankets and furs. They strapped her to it and bore her back to Devizes almost as if bringing home a corpse and Matilda tumbled into an exhausted darkness that was both a wasteland and a blessed relief.

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Forty-three

Arundel, December 1141

A deliza clung to Will, rising to meet the surge of his body, pleasure flooding her loins. He gasped her name and called her his love, his queen, his soul, and she clung to him all the tighter, because in this moment they were as one, giving and receiving each to the other without conflict.

When it was over, he lay down at her side, stroking her body, until their breathing had eased and their hearts ceased thundering. Then, sighing, he eased to his feet and began to dress. She watched him from the bed. Perhaps it was a little bit sinful to have made love in broad daylight, but she had needed the affirmation of the bond between them. “Will…” She bit her lip.

He turned and placed his foot on the coverlet to tie the thongs on his shoe. “What?”

“Can you not stay here?”

His gave her a look from under his brows. “You know I have to go. It would be disloyal of me not to greet Stephen on his release. I owe him my allegiance while he is our anointed sovereign. If God had intended Matilda to be queen, she would be on the throne by now.”

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“If I stay here, how can I help make policy? I cannot be a force for good if I am not in the council chamber. If I shun the court, then it isolates us. To be a good lord, a good husband, and a good father, I must go out into the world, not retreat from it. He leaned over, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. Then he left the bed and, fastening his belt, went briskly from the room.

Adeliza rose, draped a cloak over her chemise, and went to look out of the window.

Will had reached the courtyard and was talking to his groom.

She loved him deeply, but he frustrated her with his stubborn-ness. For a time after Lincoln she had thought he might change his mind and bring himself to swear for Matilda. But then the Londoners had driven her out of Westminster, followed by the debacle at Winchester and the capture of Robert of Gloucester.

Matilda had escaped but everything had fallen apart. She still ruled her areas of influence from her court at Devizes and she still held Oxford, but the greater power had slipped through her fingers.

They had heard terrible things about Winchester. Parts of the town had been razed to the ground. The abbeys of Hyde, Holy Cross, and Wherwell were ashes. Numerous ordinary folk had been killed, or rendered homeless and destitute. Everywhere she looked outside of her own lands there was chaos and death and destruction. That she and Will had thus far succeeded in maintaining stability in their parts of Sussex and Norfolk was by God’s