Lady of the English - By Elizabeth Chadwick Page 0,33

her, or else to think that this marriage was a fine thing and her reluctance but the contrariness of a silly, fickle woman who should better know her place. Those who frowned on the match were her father’s enemies, or had their own reasons and agendas. The only person she could rely on was herself, and that made her feel terribly lonely.

Adeliza kissed her. “I must go and put on my own cloak,” she said, “and see that all is in order. But for your own good, consider what I have said.”

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“I am worried about Matilda,” Adeliza said as she knelt to remove Henry’s shoes and set them to one side on the sheepskin rug beside the bed. It was late and they had retired to their chamber within the fortress at Brionne where the wedding party was spending the night on its journey to Le Mans.

Henry dismissed her concern with a brusque gesture. “She is my daughter and she knows what is expected of her, and so does the young Angevin sprig.” He gave an amused grunt. “He is already experienced. Not that he told me himself, and I don’t listen to the bragging of those boys around him, but my sources tell me he’s no virgin. He knows what to do and, God willing, he will get her with child on their wedding night.” Adeliza slowly began to rub his feet. “I cannot help but be concerned. It is a great step for her and I love her dearly.” She gave him a tight little smile. “I will miss her, not only as a daughter, but as a friend.”

“Matilda will return for visits, and you can write to each other,” he said gruffly. “I know what gossips you women are, 83

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but you have the other ladies of the court for company, and your duties and business as my queen. There is more than enough to keep you occupied.”

Adeliza smiled up at him, but she had to work hard to keep the sadness from her eyes. Books and leper hospitals, charities and little charters. She had no wish to rule and dominate the world of men, but she did desperately want to fulfil her role as a queen and a woman. Each time he lay with her, each month when she bled, served to point up her feeling of failure and inadequacy. “And I have you, my lord, also.” Henry drew her up to him and kissed her. “I admit here, if nowhere else, that I will miss her too, but I need her to make this match for me. Come, console me. It has been a while.” Adeliza yielded to him with wifely obedience. These days they seldom bedded together. Henry was still vigorous with the court concubines, but as she had continued to have her flux each month, he had ceased to visit her, as if he saw no point.

She knew he preferred his women blowsy and buxom, whereas she was slender and fine-boned with barely a curve. Although she was always welcoming and compliant when he did come to her, the act itself was painful, if seldom prolonged. Henry was always swift to business like a ram in the field.

When he had finished and rolled off her, Adeliza wondered if this was what it would be like for Matilda and Geoffrey. As she straightened her garments, she remembered what she had said to Matilda about the difference between a reward and an onerous duty, and for a moment tears sparkled dangerously close to the surface.

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Matilda looked down at her left hand, bare except for the thin circle of gold Geoffrey had placed on her finger that morning in the cathedral of Saint-Julien at Le Mans. The magnificence of the church had penetrated the wall she had built around 84

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herself, and opened her up to feelings of wonder as she heard mass before the altar with her boy-husband at her side. Here was the majesty and essence of God. She had been awed by the greatness, and sickened too that she should be worshipping Him here, having taken vows to obey and cherish her husband.

It was bearing false witness before one’s maker. Contrasting it with her wedding in Speyer, she felt soiled.

Throughout the day, she had been unable to look at Geoffrey, but had felt his eyes constantly on her. How she was going to bear his hands on her body tonight, she did not know. Her

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