Devil's Consort (40 page)

‘I have never known a horse to bolt with you before,’ Aelith observed, wide-eyed.

‘Nor I,’ I observed without hesitation. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

The Angevin came to my solar to ask after me. Perversely I surrounded myself with my women and kept Aelith at my side.

‘Are you recovered, lady?’

I remained seated in my high-backed chair, my feet on a footstool, my hair loose and only lightly veiled.

‘I am well.’

‘You could have been injured, lady.’

‘You have little confidence in my skill in the saddle, my lord. I have ridden since I was a child.’

‘Your talent is clear for all to see. The fault must be with the mare—a mannerless beast.’ For the length of a breath I thought his glance held an unsettling scepticism, as if he saw my guilt, but then it passed—or he was better than I had thought at dissimulation. ‘I’ll see you are better provided for next time. Will you hunt with me again, lady?’

‘If you wish it.’

‘The hunt is everything to me.’

‘So I see. Is the chase better than the final victory?’

‘It depends on the quarry, lady. The end can be sweet indeed.’

His face was stern, his meaning clear. And I was at fault. Had I not led him into the conversation? I nearly dismissed my women. Nearly. But I did not. I was not so lost to discretion or awareness of the dangers. I needed to think.

But it almost destroyed me to dismiss him. The curve of his mouth as he bowed and went out held more than a hint of complicity. It would have been the height of good sense for me to leave Poitiers immediately and continue south. If I stayed—what would I do if he pursued the Aquitaine hare in earnest? Would I give in or would I resist?

Resist. Of course I would.

‘I presume you have planned a campaign against this man?’ Aelith asked quizzically.

‘Of course. I am wooing Louis’s Seneschal to keep him loyal.’

Aelith snorted.

Every day that I remained in Poitiers I woke to feel vibrant life race through my blood. Every night I detested my empty bed. The Count of Anjou kept close attendance and continued to take me by surprise when one evening he took the lute from the minstrel, ran his thumb across the strings and to a ripple of comment
began to sing. He had a fine voice. Obviously the people of Poitiers had heard him sing before. It was a song I knew well.

Finishing with a flourish and a self-deprecating grin, the Count handed the lute back to the minstrel while I, dry-mouthed, joined in the applause. Oh, he was clever. Clever enough not to be too obvious. Both subtle and gifted, he had delivered the sentiments of the song as much to my women and to Aelith as he did to me, but I knew towards whom his intentions had been directed. I knew!

I shivered and turned away from his challenging stare.

‘Do you sing?’ I ask Henry, to hide my blushes.

‘No, lady.’ The croak in his voice was harsher than a raven’s. As ever, his clever fingers were busy, investigating an engraved and pierced incense burner. He drew in his breath as he scorched his finger-ends.

‘Have you no liking for music?’

‘I like it well enough, but I’ve no voice for it. I prefer to hunt and fight.’

‘He’s young,’ Geoffrey laughed as he retook his seat. ‘He’ll learn the way to a woman’s heart, and that to be in her bed can be as satisfying as winning a battle.’

‘Have you found it so?’ I was flirting. Flirting damnably.

‘I have, lady. And I will again.’

I expected him that night. I knew he would come, and had dismissed my women, claiming restlessness that would keep them awake. Aelith was the last to go

‘What?’ I demanded sharply.

‘Nothing—but …’

I was ill-tempered with nerves. ‘You told me to take him. He wants me. Why should I not have him? I’ve taken no vow of chastity. If I leave it to Louis I’ll never have a man in my bed again …’

‘Eleanor!’

I covered my mouth with my hands. I had never admitted it—other than to Bernard in my confessional. Not even to my sister. The shame was too heavy.

‘Does he not sleep with you?’ she whispered, aghast.

I told her at last and hid none of my humiliation.

‘Then, if I were you—’ Aelith at her pragmatic best ‘—I’d welcome the Angevin to my bed without a second thought. You want him.’

‘Yes.’ I wet my dry lips with my tongue. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then take him. Enjoy it,’ she whispered with a quick embrace. ‘You deserve more than a cold bed and a celibate husband. But don’t fall for a child.’

Wise advice. ‘Send Agnes to me, will you?’ I asked as she left me.

We made preparations, Agnes’s knowledge being vast and specific.

‘I’ll not guarantee it, lady, but use it if you’re set on this path.’

She provided for me a plug of wool impregnated with sticky cedar gum, an old Roman remedy that was, she said, better than nothing.

Geoffrey Plantagenet did not come.

When I rose next morning, tired and fretful, in no good humour, it was to learn that he had ridden out early, leaving no message for me, giving no reason for his absence. His son was gone too so there was no chance of an interrogation, even if I would so demean myself. He was away all day. Nor did he return to sup in the hall.

Was he not my Seneschal? Did he not owe me an explanation?

Between anger and a strange relief, I forced down enough mouthfuls of roast meats so not to draw attention. I could not bear the minstrels to sing but ordered up a coarser entertainment from a troupe of acrobats. A mistake. Even the lithe and sinuous
jongleurs
made me think of the Angevin. I retired early, dismissing my
women, refusing Aelith’s compassion. I did not want compassion.

I closed my door on a calm solitude I did not want.

And there he was. Smooth, charming, subtle. But now I knew him for what he was. A clenched fist in a gauntlet of the softest kid. His self-interest might be masked but it was there right enough beneath the damask tunic.

His bow was perfection. ‘I am vain enough to hope that you missed me, lady.’

His absence had been quite deliberate. A cunning ploy, to play ducks and drakes with my emotions. I would not have it! We would play no longer. This would be on my terms, not his. I would call the tune and he would dance to it. I walked towards the window that had yet to be shuttered against the night sky and looked out as if the stars filled my interest.

‘Do we have business to discuss? Were you absent on my behalf?’ I waited. ‘Well?’

‘I sense your displeasure, lady.’ He answered evasively. ‘If that is so, I ask your pardon.’

‘It matters not to me where you spend your time, sir. As long as you fulfil your role of Seneschal, I have no call on your presence.’

‘I see I am in disgrace.’

I heard his footstep, sensed his approach. He was standing behind me.

‘Send me away if you wish it, lady.’

I was playing with fire here and knew it, but I was so
lonely, with such an urgency in my heart to know the feel of a man’s body on mine. Not brief or perfunctory, not reluctantly. I wanted a lover who craved me beyond his own self-control.

‘You deserve that I should dismiss you.’ I was cold.

‘And why is that?

‘You neglect me. You absented yourself all day without my permission.’ So much for good intentions. I flinched at the admission I had not intended to make but I kept my back turned against him.

‘You think I left you willingly?’ He managed to infuse his reply with a slide of regret.

‘Did you not?’

‘As your Seneschal it is my duty to keep peace in your lands.’

‘And was your journey urgent?’

‘Who’s to say? I would not risk your safety.’

‘You have an answer for everything, have you not, Geoffrey?’ I used his name, deliberately.

‘Not everything, Eleanor.’ It shivered through me. His breath was warm on my neck. And there, following it, the brush of his fingertips. ‘Send me away if that is your wish. But do it now. Before it is too late.’

Oh, I knew it had all been contrived and he was an inverterate schemer. I also knew when I was beaten and raised my hand to press his against my shoulder so that his palm was warm against my exposed flesh.

‘Well?’ Now his lips were against my throat.

‘I don’t want you to go.’ Had it not been inevitable from the beginning?

‘Eleanor …’

Slowly he turned me round, and bending his head placed his lips on mine. His touch was light, his clasp on my shoulders insubstantial, as if allowing me the choice to step away.

I did not.

Geoffrey’s arms banded round me, his mouth hardened against mine and I sank into the embrace. Louis’s kisses had given me no warning of this. This was a long, dark slide of tongue and teeth, of ruthless possession, into a heat of blatant need in my belly and my loins. From there to my bed was no distance at all, where I discovered that I might lack the experience but I had the desire and a sense of what would please the Count of Anjou. Moving with effortless skill, making me feel neither awkward nor inept, he loved me.

Pinioning my wrists above my head, he looked down into my eyes.

‘Your monkish lover does not satisfy a woman of your temperament. But I can.’

I was swept along by his words. My skin heated, my breath caught and my emotions no longer obeyed me.

That night the Angevin conquered Aquitaine.

I had had no idea.

Three weeks. For those three weeks I was Countess of Poitou, not Queen of France. I was a young unwed
maiden again, not a married woman with a child. I was desired and indulged, flattered and beguiled with delicate pleasure. I was neither ignored nor rejected nor made to feel less than my worth. I was alive, under a breathtaking surge of excitement that I never wanted to end.

We rode, hunted, feasted, loved. I accompanied him when he rode to test the atmosphere in the neighbouring lands. I sat with him when he dispensed justice. I learned much of him as a man, as a ruler. His justice was fair, tempered with mercy, but he was no fool. Those who threatened the peace of Poitou were punished with a heavy hand.

Louis and Matilda remained as shades on the edges of our perception.

At night he was my lover. Or we lay together in my bed in late afternoon, a stolen moment when the rest of the household slept or whiled away the surprising heat of the late autumnal day.

‘I think you will go soon,’ he remarked. He stroked his hand down the length of my haunch.

‘Yes. Soon. But not today.’ I was sated and drowsy.

‘One thing …’

I lifted my head, intrigued to see him suddenly so serious. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m looking for a suitable wife for my son. It’s time he was betrothed.’

Ah! So matters of state had crept up on us. Had I expected it? Perhaps I had.

‘And have you someone in mind?’ I asked carefully. I would not pre-empt the discussion I foresaw.

‘You have a daughter.’

‘So I have.’

‘Would you consider a match between her and Henry?’

‘Marie is less than one year old.’

‘A betrothal for the future, nothing more.’ Geoffrey’s hand stroked down again, a slow, firm stroke, as his eyes held mine. ‘There are only thirteen years between them. There are eleven years between Matilda and myself.’ Suddenly he rolled and pinned me to the bed with his weight, his hands holding mine flat on either side of my head. ‘What do you think?’

I thought I did not like a marriage negotiation to come sneaking into my bed. Nevertheless I showed my teeth in a little smile. ‘So, my lord of Anjou, you have an ambition to be connected with the King of France?’

He did not return the smile. ‘I would not choose it—Louis is more my enemy than my friend. But this marriage would tip the balance in my direction. With Louis tied into alliance it will enhance my power. And Henry’s for the future.’ Suddenly, despite the intimacy of our position, his words revealed the ruthlessness that I had always suspected. ‘I’d make an alliance with the Devil if it brought me gain.’

I breathed slowly, remembering my own assertion, so long ago now, that I would wed the Devil if it would
keep Aquitaine safe. Geoffrey was staring at me as if he would will me to acquiesce. There was a cold ambition here, a calculation. Matilda, with her mind fixed on England, was not the only one to have an eye to the future. Suddenly the brightness of my chamber was dimmed as the sun moved beyond the window, and doubt, sharp-toothed, bit at my heart. Was this why Geoffrey had wooed me, courted me? Was it to make me compliant towards an alliance?

‘Eleanor? Do we make a pact?’

And I knew he had used me. I must step carefully in my dealings with Geoffrey of Anjou, circumventing any obvious traps. His will, his instinct for survival, was as strong as mine.

‘Eleanor?’ he repeated as he leaned and kissed me very gently on the lips.

‘You must ask Louis.’ I hedged a little.

‘But would you stand against me if I requested such an alliance?’

I forced my mind to consider, to weigh the advantages. I willed considerations of policy and power to take precedence over my own ruffled feelings.

‘No. I would not.’ I had no doubt that the Angevins would make their mark on the map of Europe. And if Henry had inherited any of his father’s charm and skill, he would definitely make my daughter a more fulfilling husband than Louis had ever made me. ‘No, I’ll not stand against you. I’ll give such an alliance my support.’

I saw victory in his gaze and was forced to turn my face away. I could not be sure that the pain that wrapped around my heart was not mirrored in my eyes and it would not do for him to see it. I must show no weakness with this man.

‘Eleanor—have I displeased you?’ His voice was tender again. With one hand he cupped my chin and made me look at him. ‘I think I have. Let me pleasure you again. And myself.’ I looked again at his fine features, the fierce admiration in his eyes. I shivered. ‘I want you, Eleanor, and for now my desire and your delight take precedence over my son’s future.’