“And what if it doesn’t happen?” Isabelle choked. “What if I am kept here until I rot?”
“Oh, you won’t!” Heloise said, reaching out. “Here now, don’t cry.”
Isabelle twitched away from her. “I’m not crying,” she snapped.
Heloise looked hurt, but took the hint and didn’t persist.
Through the sudden slant of the rain, Isabelle watched a man dismount from a fine black palfrey and hand the reins to one of his squires. She thought how unfair it was that an unknown knight could come and go at will while she was incarcerated like a felon.
William could tell that Ranulf de Glanville, England’s justiciar and King Henry’s senior administrator, was displeased at the royal command to release Heloise of Kendal into William’s keeping, but then Ranulf always had an eye to heiresses for the aggrandisement of his own family and his opinion of William was somewhat jaundiced. A tourney circuit wastrel and suspected adulterer, with a fast sword and a smooth tongue. William knew exactly what Ranulf thought.
“You are to be congratulated on your good fortune,” de Glanville said insincerely, although his lips did stretch to a wintry smile. “Not only the lady Heloise, but the lordship of Cartmel too, I understand.”
“I am aware of the King’s generosity,” William replied evenly. “I would like to see the girl and make arrangements for her to leave.”
The justiciar raised his thin, silver eyebrows. “You are in haste…my lord.” The last two words were added delicately and could have been taken as either compliment or insult. William allowed both nuances to bounce off him.
“Naturally I am. I have lands to discover and govern and they are at the other end of England. Since Heloise of Kendal is now my ward, I desire to meet her and give her a day’s grace to pack her baggage.”
De Glanville’s nod was grudging. “I’ll have her summoned.” He beckoned to an attendant. “I assume you intend to wed the girl?”
William made a non-committal sound, thinking that everyone was suddenly very concerned about his marital status. “I have heard that you have another heiress lodged in your keeping,” he said thoughtfully.
“I have several heiresses. They come and go as the King sees fit to grant them to wardens and husbands,” de Glanville said coldly. “And I doubt he will see fit to grant you more than he has already given.”
William answered the rebuff with a smile. He had heard that the daughter of Richard Strongbow was lodged in the Tower and everyone knew that she was one of the greatest marriage prizes in the kingdom. Only the heiress of Châteauroux on the French border had any claim to greater tracts of land. A man who gained such property would not be just a simple baron, but a magnate. He had been wondering for several days if Queen Eleanor wasthatambitious for him and also how ambitious he was for himself. He had glimpsed Strongbow’s daughter fleetingly on the day he had set out for Jerusalem—a thin girl in the early stages of turning into a woman, with wide blue eyes and ropes of rain-jewelled fair hair.
The attendant returned, escorting two young women: a willowy blonde and a buxom younger girl with a freckled complexion and bright brown eyes. Ranulf de Glanville’s own complexion darkened until it almost matched the madder-red of his woollen tunic.
“As I understood,” he said curtly, “I sent for the lady Heloise alone.”
The attendant stared like an owl caught in daylight and began to stutter an apology. Overriding him, the plump girl took a swift pace forward and said, “I asked Isabelle to accompany me. Have I done wrong?”
The justiciar compressed his lips. “Had I wanted both of you, I would have sent for both of you.” He gestured to the discomforted attendant. “Escort Lady Isabelle back to her chamber.”
William rose and bowed to the girls. “They may both remain as far as I am concerned,” he said easily. “A flower gladdens the eye, but two flowers doubly so.”
“This is not the court of the Young King,” de Glanville snapped. “Your speeches are inappropriate…my lord, as is Lady Isabelle’s presence.”
“But surely the lady is your guest, not your prisoner.” William perused Isabelle de Clare more closely. The wan, slender waif of his brief glimpse three years ago was developing into a beauty. No wonder de Glanville had turned puce at her exposure to William. She returned his regard calmly from eyes flecked with different tones of blue like a summer sea, and then she lowered her gaze towards her neatly clasped hands. Her complexion was pale but pink warmth had seeped into her cheeks.
“Lady Isabelle is the King’s ward, and it is my duty to protect her and do as I see fit for her wellbeing,” de Glanville replied testily and waved his hand at the attendant. “I would hope that your manners are as fine as your speech.”
“My manners are better than most,” William said pointedly and inclined his head to Isabelle de Clare. “Another time perhaps, my lady.”
“My lord,” she murmured and turned with the servant, but not before she had cast a look filled with resentment and anger at Ranulf de Glanville. Not meek then, William thought with amusement, but too mannerly to cause a scene, and perhaps still not experienced enough to exert her authority. Dragging himself back to the matter in hand, he addressed Heloise of Kendal, who was almost as red in the face as the justiciar.
“You have been told I am to be your warden?” He gestured her to sit on the bench and bade a squire give her wine.
“Yes, my lord,” she replied, plumping her ample haunches on the cushions. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“You haven’t,” William said “even if my lord Glanville would dispute the fact.” He gave the justiciar a ribbing glance. “It is a good thing he is not the Queen’s keeper for he would know the meaning of trouble then.”
De Glanville loudly cleared his throat but otherwise did not rise to the bait, his expression one of controlled irritation.
“So,” William said to Heloise, “how long do you need to be ready to ride home? Will the morrow be too soon?”
He watched her eyes brighten. “Oh no, my lord,” she said. “I would go now if it were possible.” And then cast a swift glance at de Glanville and put her hand to her mouth.
