my father the English king are dead. That is a great mistake, and you will answer dearly for it.”
“I believe the Almighty will understand, my lady.”
Joanna’s lips curved in an angry, mocking smile. “The Almighty may, but my brother, the Lionheart, will not.”
Tancred was not a vindictive winner and was willing to concede her the last word. He bowed stiffly and withdrew, leaving her standing in the wreckage of the life that just a month ago had seemed well-nigh perfect.
CHAPTER 4
MARCH 1190
Nonancourt Castle, Normandy
After William Marshal’s young wife had been presented to the Queen of England, Will guided Isabel toward the relative privacy of a window-seat, for he knew she’d be eager to discuss it with him. And, indeed, as soon as they were seated, she turned toward him, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“She is not as beautiful as I’d heard, Will. I suppose that is because she is so old now. You said she was nigh on sixty-and-six.” Isabel paused to marvel at that vast age, for both of her parents had died in their forties. “Are you sure the king is not here yet?” She sat up straight, her eyes sweeping the crowded hall. “What does he look like?”
“Richard is taller than most men, two fingers above six feet, with curly hair betwixt red and gold. Trust me, lass, he is not one to pass unnoticed. If he were here, you’d need none to point him out to you.”
“Well, I hope he comes soon, for I must be the only one at court who has not even laid eyes upon the king.” Isabel looked around, then, for Richard’s brother, but could find no one who matched the king’s description. “Count John is not here, either?”
“John is over there, the one talking to the Lady Alys, in the green gown.” Will started to identify Alys as the French king’s sister, Richard’s neglected, long-suffering betrothed, then remembered that Isabel knew Alys better than he did, for prior to their marriage she’d resided at the Tower of London with Alys and another rich heiress, Denise de Deols.
“John does not look at all like Richard, does he? He is as dark as a Spaniard, and nowhere near as tall as you, Will.” Isabel gave her husband a fond glance from the corner of her eye. “He is handsome, though, I must admit. In fact, I’ve never seen so many comely men gathered in one place. Look at that youth with the fair hair and sky-blue eyes, just like a Norse raider! And there is another beautiful lad—can you use the word ‘beautiful’ for men? The one laughing, with chestnutcolored hair.”
Will took her teasing in stride, for he was amused by her lively, playful personality and was too sure of his manhood to deny his young bride the fun of flirting. He’d never hoped to be given such a prize—a great heiress like Isabel—for he was just a younger son of a minor baron, a man whose worth had been measured by the strength and accuracy of his sword arm. He still remembered his astonishment when the old king had promised Isabel de Clare to him, a deathbed reward for years of steadfast loyalty. He’d been sure that his bright future was lost when King Henry’s life ebbed away at Chinon Castle. But the new king, Richard, had confirmed Henry’s dying promise and, at that moment, Will had begun to believe in miracles.
“You truly are a king’s granddaughter,” he said, “for you’ve singled out men with royal blood flowing in their veins. Your ‘Norse raider’ is Henri of the House of Blois, the Count of Champagne, nephew to two kings—Richard and Philippe of France. And your ‘beautiful lad’ is Richard’s Welsh kinsman, Morgan ap Ranulf. His father was the old king’s favorite uncle, and Morgan served Richard’s brother Geoffrey until his death, then joined Henry’s household.”
“Life at court is going to be rather dull with so many gallant young lords off to fight the Saracens,” Isabel said with a mock sigh, still bent upon mischief. It was a safe game, for Will wasn’t tiresomely jealous like so many husbands. Her friend and Tower companion, Denise de Deols, had recently been wed to King Richard’s cousin, André de Chauvigny, and he was so possessive she had to conduct herself as circumspectly as a nun.
“They have not all taken the cross. John is not going to the Holy Land.”
Isabel’s pert, vivacious demeanor sometimes led others to underestimate her; she had a quick brain and was a