When I was announced, he looked dumbstruck, and even tried to convince me to return to the castle, saying it was not proper for me to seek you out like this. I think it makes them nervous when I show that I have a mind of my own,” she said with a smile, and Henri caught his breath.
When she’d emerged from the stairwell, his first impression was one of fragility and loss. She was clad in a plain, dark-blue gown with a high neckline, wearing no jewelry but her wedding band, her hair covered by a simple linen wimple. Her skirts hid any evidence of pregnancy, for she was still in the early stages; Henri was intensely aware that she was with child, though, and that made her seem even more vulnerable in his eyes. But then she’d smiled, a bewitching, luminous smile that gave him a glimpse of the young woman beneath the somber widow’s garb, and suddenly he saw her not as a tragic figure, not as his fellow victim in a bizarre twist of fate, but as a very desirable bedmate.
“I am glad you came,” he said, with enough sincerity to bring a faint flush to her cheeks.
“I had to . . . Henri. I know you do not want to stay in Outremer.” When he started to speak, she stopped him with a light touch of her hand. “I understand, for this is my home, not yours. And I also understand your reluctance to wed me. How could you not have misgivings about such a marriage—a reluctant wife carrying another man’s child, not the best of beginnings.”
Her lashes swept down for a moment, and then she raised her head and met his eyes without artifice or coquetry. “I cannot ease your yearning for Champagne. But at least I can ease your mind about me. I am not being compelled to marry you, Henri. I will not deny that I am being urged to it on all sides. But I am in a stronger position than I was when they insisted I wed Conrad. The laws of our realm offer me protection against an unwanted marriage, for the Assizes provide that a widow may not be forced to wed for a year after her husband’s death. So at the risk of being shamelessly bold, you need not fear that I’ll be an unwilling wife.”
Henri very much wanted to believe her. “I know you have a strong sense of duty. You proved that when you agreed to marry Conrad.”
“I am so glad you understand that!” She leaned toward him, that enchanting smile flashing again. For all that she’d been twice wed, she still seemed like an innocent, and he felt sure she did not realize the impact her physical proximity was having upon him. “Not everyone does,” she confided. “I loved Humphrey, did not want to leave him. But I was not browbeaten into agreeing to marry Conrad as so many think. Yes, I was greatly pressured by Conrad, by my mother, my stepfather, Archbishop Joscius, almost all of our lords and bishops, even the papal legate. I did not yield, though, until I realized that this was the only way to strip Guy de Lusignan of his kingship.”
“I think you showed commendable courage . . . Isabella.”
“I never expected to be queen. Why would I, for my sister had two children already and was still young enough to have many more. I was content with Humphrey and the life we had together. But the deaths of Sybilla and her daughters changed everything.”
“Just as Conrad’s death has.”
She nodded. “At least he died happy. He so desperately wanted to be king. I’m glad he had those few days. . . .”
Henri was surprised both by the sentiment and by the ironic undertones, coming from a girl with the face of an angel. “Conrad . . . you and he were able to . . .” He did not know how to ask so probing and personal a question, but he needed to know. If she’d been maltreated, it might well affect their own marriage.
“Yes,” she said simply. “When I agreed to marry him, I realized that I could not do so with hatred in my heart. It was not always easy, not at first. But I did my best to be a dutiful wife and if I could not give him more, I do not think he missed it. He had what he wanted most, a claim to the