Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,180
She pressed her hand to her heart. “And then you bring me here, and as if it is the greatest prize of all, you show me a pair of latrines!”
“Are you not pleased?” He looked anxious.
She fought to contain her hilarity because her stomach was aching, and she did not want to hurt him. “Of course I am pleased! It is a wonderful surprise and I bless your kindness. Not many husbands would be so thoughtful.” His colour heightened.
He seldom bought her fripperies such as silks and jewels. If she wanted those she had to see to it herself via her chamberlain. Will rarely noticed details such as the colour of her gown or if she had made a special effort to dress for him. He took it all for granted and she had to fish for compliments. But then he would suddenly surprise her by bringing her a copy of Aesop or an ivory-covered prayer book. He would build her a chapel beautiful enough to make her cry…and her own private latrine, revealing that, in his own way, he had been paying attention to her after all and all the time. It was something very rare and precious that Henry had never done, despite making her a queen.
He came and sat beside her. “I tried to think of the things you would like—or find appropriate,” he said and kissed her, softly at first, and then with growing ardour.
“I am not certain this is appropriate, my lord,” she said, but with a smile in her voice and quickened breathing. “We should have hangings on the bed at the least. What if someone comes in and finds us like this?”
He rose and going to the door, he shot the bolt across.
“They won’t.”
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Her blood turned to honey in her veins. Lying together in daylight did seem slightly sinful, but that very sense of daring was erotic and it was her duty to love her husband and procreate with him; and in that sense, it was very appropriate indeed.
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Fifty-two
The English Channel, March 1147
G ripping a halyard and leaning forward, the wind ruffling his copper-gold hair, Henry watched the English coastline grow out of the haze and take on solid shape and knew it was a portent, because this land would one day be his. The sea slapping against the strakes of the ship was a choppy grey edged with whitecaps, and reflected the state of the sky, and the wind was so raw that his face was numb, but he was exhilarated, both by what lay on the horizon and by the sound of the soldier’s banter behind him on the ship. He was bound for England with a small band of mercenaries. He had no ready money to pay them beyond a few coins and jewels of his own that he had scraped together, but had promised them rich pickings when they arrived.
He was a week short of his fourteenth birthday, but he knew he was a man. Indeed, boyhood had always been a trial because he had never seen himself as a child and hated it when others did.
He had organised this mission without parental knowledge or consent, but he intended to show them that he was a contender now, and could do his part. Besides, he was needed in England.
King Stephen had the upper hand and that had to change. He had to prove he was a leader of men and show the barons he was England’s rightful king, especially as Stephen was attempting to have his own son Eustace crowned to succeed to the throne.
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Thus far Rome and the archbishop of Canterbury were resisting, but Henry knew he had to make himself the only choice. He was not simply undertaking this voyage to stir up trouble with armed conflict. He intended taking a diplomatic approach too because a king had to be able to negotiate, as well as fight.
Gulls circled over the ship, crying their message of approaching land, and two fishing boats were casting their nets a little off the steerboard side of the bows. Very soon the news of his landing would be spreading like wildfire. Henry smiled a little and pinched his upper lip, where a soft coppery moustache was beginning to grow in. His first intent was to spread rumours, and watch them grow in the telling. Thus could fifty men become five hundred, or even five thousand.