surprisingly good judge of character for a girl of eighteen. She caught the unspoken undertones in her husband’s voice, and eyed him curiously. “You do not like Count John, do you, Will?”
“No,” he said tersely, “I do not.”
Seeing that he did not want to discuss the king’s brother, she obligingly steered the conversation in a more agreeable direction, asking the identity of the woman talking with Morgan ap Ranulf. When Will told her that was Constance, the Duchess of Brittany, Isabel studied the older woman with heightened interest. She knew Constance had been betrothed to Richard’s brother Geoffrey in childhood, wed to him at twenty, widowed five years later. Will had told her King Henry had then compelled Constance to marry his cousin, the Earl of Chester, wanting to be sure her husband would be loyal to the English Crown. She’d reluctantly agreed to the marriage in order to retain wardship of her two young children, but one of Richard’s first acts after his coronation had been to demand that she turn her daughter over to his custody.
Gazing at the Breton duchess, Isabel felt a pang of sympathy, and moved her hand protectively to her abdomen. She knew, of course, that children of the highborn were usually sent off to other noble households for their education. Constance’s daughter had been just five, though, taken against her mother’s will. Isabel had been taught that a wife’s first duty was to her husband, not her children, but she’d often wondered if a woman’s maternal instincts could be stifled so easily. She was only in the early months of her first pregnancy and already she felt that she’d defend the tiny entity in her womb with her last breath.
“Will you introduce me to the duchess, Will?” Receiving an affirmation, she continued her scrutiny of the hall. “Is that the Archbishop of York? And my heavens, who is that man?”
“Yes, that is the Archbishop of York, Richard’s half-brother,” William said, then followed her gaze to see who had provoked her outburst. “Ah . . . that is Guillaume Longchamp, the Bishop of Ely, the king’s chancellor and most trusted adviser. At first sight, he seems a pitiful figure, small and ugly and crippled in the bargain. But do not be misled by his paltry size or his lameness, for his intelligence is exceeded only by his arrogance.”
“No, not him. That man over there, the one who looks like he escaped from Hell!”
Once Will identified the object of her interest, he smiled grimly. “That is Mercadier. I assume he must have a given name, but I’ve never heard it. His past is a mystery, too. I know only that he entered Richard’s service about seven years ago as a routier—that is the term used for men like Mercadier, men who sell their swords to the highest bidder. He has been loyal to Richard, I’ll grant him that much, and he is as fearless in battle as Richard himself. But he knows no more of mercy than a starving wolf, and when he walks by, other men step back, instinctively making the sign of the cross.”
Isabel was staring openly at the routier captain, mesmerized by his sinister appearance—lanky black hair, cold pale eyes, and the worst facial scar she’d ever seen, slashing across his cheek to his chin like a diabolical brand, twisting the corner of his mouth into a mockery of a smile. “If ever there was a man who had a rendezvous with the hangman, that is the one,” she declared, suppressing a shiver. Suddenly the great hall lost some of its appeal. “I am tired, Will. May we retire to our chamber?”
“Of course, Isabel.” Will’s natural courtliness had been greatly enhanced by Isabel’s pregnancy, so much so that she had to remind herself not to take advantage of his solicitude. “We’ll have to bid the queen good night first,” he said, helping her to rise. As they headed toward the dais, he identified the woman who’d just joined Eleanor.
“That is the Lady Hawisa, the Countess of Aumale. She’d been wed to one of King Henry’s friends, the Earl of Essex, but he died in December and Richard ordered her to marry a Poitevin lord, William de Forz. The Lady Hawisa balked, though, actually dared to defy the king. You great heiresses tend to be a stubborn lot,” he murmured, showing that when it came to teasing, he could give as good as he got. “But Richard is a stubborn one, too, and he