Isobel felt as if she were watching events unfold from a great distance. Surely this was not happening. Not now.
She was vaguely aware of Robert cursing under his breath as he sat down. With his hand on her arm he whispered, “I had no notion the king meant to do this today.”
“Lord de Roche wishes to have the marriage ceremony take place in his home city of Rouen,” the king announced. “The banns will be posted there.”
“Merde!”Robert hissed beside her.
Isobel kept her eyes fixed on the untouched food in front of her while the king talked on and on. She flinched each time she heard the word “betrothal” but took in nothing else.
God help her. It was too late.
When the king finished speaking, de Roche stood and took his turn. His words flowed like thick honey of the bonding of two great kingdoms, God’s will, the king’s destiny.
Isobel started at the sudden weight of a hand on her shoulder and looked up into hard gray eyes.
“ ’Tis time to sign the marriage contract and pledge our troth,” de Roche said.
To the sound of halfhearted clapping, he pulled her to her feet. Geoffrey walked to her from the far end of the table.
“I am sorry to surprise you,” he whispered as he laid the marriage contract before her. “The king would brook no delay.”
She took the quill and signed without reading it.
De Roche signed with a flourish, then took her hand. His deep voice filled the room as he made his formal promise to her.
All eyes in the hall turned to her. Panic seized her. She could not do this. Not now. Not yet. Not ever. She took a step back, her eyes on the door.
King Henry stood before her, blocking her way. She opened her mouth to tell him—
Tell him what? That she could not do this now? Surely the king would demand a reason.
I must wait until I know if I am with child. I have committed the sin of fornication, with a man other than the one I agreed to wed.
She could not tell him that. Not before all these witnesses.
The king cleared his throat. When she looked into his magnetic hazel eyes, Isobel felt the full force of his will for the first time. Before her was the king who united England, the commander men followed gladly into war. His every aspect exuded utter certainty that he knew what was right.
King Henry was relentless in pursuing the destiny God set out for him. Every day, he did his duty with all of his being. With his steady gaze, he was telling her that today he expected her to do hers.
The king prompted her, telling her what she should say. She did as he bade her. She repeated back the simple words of the promise to marry.
It was done.
A gush of wind went through the hall, causing the lamps and candles to flicker. Isobel turned and saw a dark figure at the entrance, rain dripping from his cloak. Her heart caught in her throat. Even before he threw his hood back and pushed the wet hair from his face, she knew it was him.
“Sir Stephen,” the king called out, a smile lighting his face. “Come, we will make room for you here.”
Stephen strode up to the high table and made his bow to the king. But when he lifted his head, his dark eyes were fixed on Isobel.
“You are just in time to hear the good news,” the king said, gesturing toward Isobel and de Roche. “Lord de Roche and Lady Isobel Hume are betrothed. They leave today for Rouen.”
Isobel felt faint under Stephen’s gaze. Though his face was expressionless, she saw the muscles in his jaw working. How angry he must be with her! Only hours since he demanded she delay this marriage, and already she had bound herself. Only hours since she lay naked with him, and she stood beside the man who would be her husband. She wanted to cry out that it was not her fault—the king gave her no choice.
But none of it mattered. What was done was done.
“I wish you every happiness,” Stephen said between his teeth. Without another word, he turned on his heel.
Isobel watched the dark drops of rainwater fall from his cape and hit the gray stone floor as he walked across it. Long after he was gone, she heard the echo of his boots in the silent hall.
