Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,25

to think. There had been a strange atmosphere in the castle of late. Something was afoot. Her father was snappy and on edge while Adeliza was full of attentive kindness. Robert was always too busy with other matters to talk to her and she had barely seen Brian at all. It did not take much wit to guess the reason why.

A movement at the garden gate caught her attention and she saw her father dismissing her attendants with his usual air of authority. Putting his head down like a small, charging bull, he made his way towards her bench. He was swinging a staff of polished oak and his expression was benign but purposeful.

Matilda straightened up and her heart began to pound.

“Daughter, a fine spring day to be enjoying the garden,” he said, joining her. He chuckled at the sight of the bathing sparrows. “They remind me of certain courtiers.” Matilda smiled. “I was thinking of Heinrich just now, and the gardens we planned at Speyer. He always loved this time of year.”

He rested the staff across his knees. “Time now, though, to plan a new garden, and turn your thoughts to the future. I have some great news for you and I hope you will be well pleased when I tell you.”

“I think I know what this is about.” Her voice was steady, concealing her apprehension.

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“Do you indeed?” His eyes twinkled, but they were hard too—like bright chips of stone.

“You would not dismiss the servants for a trifling matter.” He gave an amused grunt. “I suppose the planning has been obvious, although few know the details. Time enough to broach it to all once I have told the most important person in this.” He took her nearest hand between his and patted it.

“So whom am I to marry?”

He smiled and chose to draw out the moment further. “You will have a fine income and a splendid home; you will not want for anything. You will go to your new husband with all the glory to which a future queen is entitled. You will have a train of wealth and luxury. No one will say I have stinted my daughter.” So the treaty was already drawn up; it had gone that far. Her stomach curdled at this information so casually given. “Where am I going?” she demanded with a bite in her voice. “And who am I to wed—tell me!”

Her father beamed, and she shivered. “You are to marry the son of a man who is about to become the greatest king in Christendom.”

She stared at him, blinking, trying to think whom he could mean.

“Fulke of Anjou is to marry Princess Melisande and become king of Jerusalem. When he leaves for Outremer, his son Geoffrey will become Count of Anjou in his place. He is a fine young man and he will make you strong heirs while securing our boundaries and curtailing the ambitions of the French.” The greenery and the flowers blurred around Matilda.

“Geoffrey of Anjou,” she said in disbelief. “You want me to wed Geoffrey of Anjou?” Nausea surged.

Now the twinkle was gone from his eyes and only the bright hardness remained. “I expect your obedience and your acceptance in good grace.”

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She swallowed, unable to believe he was demanding this of her. “He is a child.” Her lip curled. “You want me to marry a boy, the son of a common count? You would disparage your own daughter?”

His complexion darkened. “Mind your tongue. Angevin support is vital to the security of our lands. Geoffrey of Anjou’s youth is an advantage. He will very soon be a man.”

“But he is not a man now; he is an untried youth of what—thirteen?”

“Almost fourteen. He will be of an age to consent when you meet to be betrothed.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Do not do this to me.”

“It is your duty, daughter.” He too stood up; she was tall and they were eye to eye. “You will do as I say. What use are you to me otherwise? I might as well have left you in a German nunnery. There is no better match for you than this. The boy matters little save that he fills your womb and you bear sons to inherit. As soon as that is accomplished, you may live your own life.”

Matilda almost gagged. She could not go beyond the notion that she was being told to wed a boy the same age as the spotty