A formidable city. The city walls went on forever and had more towers than she could count. Weary as she was, she could not help wondering how King Henry hoped to take it.
The others must be tired, as well. The entire party slowed to a sluggish pace now that Rouen was within sight. By the time they passed through the city’s massive gates, it was full dark.
De Roche dropped back to ride beside her. “Follow close behind me,” he told her. “The house is not far now.”
Isobel fought to stay awake as she followed de Roche’s horse through the narrow, winding streets. Every few yards, she turned to check on the twins, who rode, heads bobbing, just behind her.
At last they came to a halt before the gate of a massive, walled house. De Roche helped her down. Her legs, stiff from riding all day, gave way as he set her to the ground.
Strong arms lifted her. The man’s smell was wrong, but she could not summon the strength to open her eyes. She heard hushed voices around her. Then there was nothing but the lulling, rocking motion of being carried upstairs.
Isobel sat straight up, heart racing, not knowing where she was. When she saw Linnet amid the tangle of bedclothes beside her, she put her hand to her chest. Thank God. She took a deep breath to calm herself. But then the events of the last days came back to her.
Slowly, she lay back down on the bed.
Memories of Stephen ran through her head. Stephen, speaking in a cold voice of what she must and must not do. Strapping on his belt and sword, too angry to look at her. His face when he understood what she had done. The echo of his boots as he left the hall.
And the last time she would ever see him: A dark figure on the wall, cape flapping in the wind.
God give her strength.
She wept silently, trying not to waken Linnet, but her sobs shook the bed. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Nothing was to be gained by more weeping. Blinking back her tears, she sat up and pushed the heavy bed curtain aside.
It was late, judging by the light. Though she was grateful de Roche had saved her from meeting his mother last night, she must not delay making the acquaintance of her mother-in-law any longer. The woman would think badly of her.
Isobel stood on the cold floor, hugging herself, and looked about the bedchamber. It was a dark and austere room, the only furniture the bed, a bench, and a table with pitcher and basin. What light there was came from the adjoining room.
Isobel stepped through the doorway into a cozy solar. It had a coal brazier for warmth and was comfortably furnished with a small table, a chair, and two stools. The best feature was the large double window that bathed the room in late morning light. Beneath it was a window seat with colorful cushions.
Isobel stepped up onto the window seat to look out. Her rooms, she saw, were on the third floor overlooking an interior courtyard. A single tree filled the courtyard, its branches rising higher than her window. A row of small brown birds perched on the slender branch closest to her, heads twitching back and forth as they chattered.
At the sound of a light knock, Isobel hopped down just as a pretty maid opened the door.
“The lord awaits you in the hall, m’lady,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy. “I am to help you dress.”
Isobel decided to let Linnet sleep. A short time later, she followed the young woman down two sets of stairs and through several rooms to the hall. There, she found de Roche sitting alone at a long table set before the hall’s huge hearth.
He rose and greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “Your rooms are satisfactory?” he asked as he helped her sit.
“They are lovely, thank you, especially the solar.”
Several trays were on the table, piled high with food. De Roche pushed his trencher toward her and nodded for her to help herself. All this food for just the two of them? The rest of the household must have long since broken their fast.
She nibbled at a piece of bread. “I am sorry I missed your mother. When shall I meet her?”
“My mother is not here just now.” De Roche stabbed a slab of ham with the point of his knife and stuffed it into his mouth.
Not here?His mother must already be out visiting friends in the town.
“I’m afraid you shall not see much of me for the next week or two,” de Roche said, chewing.
He surveyed the tray of steaming bread, picked a thick slice, and dipped it in the bowl of honey. Dribbles of sticky honey ran down his chin and fingers, reminding her disturbingly of Hume.
Between bites of the bread and licks at the honey running down his hand he said, “I will be busy persuading the men of the town to take King Henry’s side in this fight.”
This, at least, was good news.
“I’m glad you will speak for our king,” she said. “You can assure them he is a just ruler who cares for all his people.”
