Annora’s mouth curved down. “Sometimes I think you’ll be defending that woman with your dying breath. Why you’re so fond of her, I’ll never understand, for no one else can abide her foul tempers and arrogance-”
“You’re not being fair, Annora. People are too quick to find fault with Maude, judge her too harshly. It is true that she has ever been one for speaking her mind, and mayhap such forthrightness is unseemly in a woman, but I rather like it myself. There is no pretense to Maude; she says what she thinks and means what she says. As for her temper, I’ll not deny she is quick to anger. But if that be a sin, it is one she shares with most of mankind. And she is very loyal to those she loves. Do you remember me telling you about that remarkable dog I saw in Paris last year? It looked verily like a wolf, but with a jaunty, bushy tail curling over its back. It belonged to a Norwegian merchant, and he said such dogs were common in his homeland, known as dyrehunds, that they were bold hunters, able to track elk, moose, wolves, even bears-”
“I do not care if they can chase down unicorns! What do dyrehunds have to do with Maude?”
“If you’ll curb your impatience, you’ll find out. I was much taken with the dog, but the man would not sell it. I happened to mention it to Maude, and she sent for the man, secretly arranged for him to bring back two breeding pairs of dyrehunds on his next trip to Oslo, and surprised me with them on my birthday. Handsome beasts, I cannot wait for you to see them. But how many people would have done what Maude did for me? She has a giving heart, and that should count for more than a sharp tongue.”
Annora was not convinced. “I’m glad she got you the Norse dogs you fancied. But the world is still filled with people who love that lady not. At the mere thought of her queenship, my father turns the color of moldy cheese!”
“I know how common such qualms are,” Ranulf conceded. “We’ve never had a queen who ruled in her own right, and the novelty of that scares a lot of people. If only Maude were not wed to Geoffrey of Anjou! He may lack for scruples, but not for enemies, and every one of them is now Maude’s enemy, too, for they fear that he’d share her throne as he does her bed. Poor Maude, she cannot win, for when men are not berating her for her unwomanly willfulness, they are accusing her of being Geoffrey’s pawn! How can she be both a virago and a puppet?”
“Poor Maude, indeed! She was born a king’s daughter, wed first to the Holy Roman Emperor and then the Count of Anjou, she’s borne Geoffrey two healthy sons, she’ll one day be Queen of England and Duchess of Normandy, and the Lord God saw fit to make her a beauty in the bargain. There has probably never been a woman so blessed since Eve woke up in Eden!”
Ranulf grinned. “I’d say you were more blessed than Maude. After all, you’re going to marry me!” he said, and stifled her riposte with a kiss. “What you say about Maude is true enough, Annora. But truth, as my cousin Stephen is fond of pointing out, has as many layers as an onion. Peel away a few of them and you get a different truth, a view of Maude’s life not quite so ‘blessed.’ She was sent to Germany at age eight, wed to a man nigh on twenty years her senior, a man of black moods and brooding temper, notorious for having betrayed his own father. She somehow made a success of the marriage, though, and won the hearts of her husband’s subjects, too. When she was widowed, they wanted her to stay in Germany. So did she, for she’d learned by then to look upon Germany as her home. But my father insisted that she return to England, and when she did, he named her as his heir.”
“Oh, no! To be burdened with a crown-that poor lass.”
Ranulf tweaked her braid again. “But the crown had a baited hook in it, for he then forced her to wed Geoffrey of Anjou. When she objected, he confined her within his queen’s chambers under guard, kept her there until she yielded.”
“I never knew that! The king made Maude a prisoner?” When Ranulf nodded, Annora felt a twinge of grudging pity for Maude; her own upbringing had been one of indulgence and coddling, as the youngest and the only girl in a family of sons. “I’ll admit that Maude’s marriage does sound like a match made in Hell. But they did in time make their peace, did they not?”
“More like an armed truce. It helped when Maude gave birth to a son two years ago, and then a second lad a year later. Both Maude and Geoffrey dote on the boys, especially young Henry, their firstborn. But for all that they’ve iced over their differences, a bystander could still get frostbite if he lingered too long in their company. Do you see what I am saying, Annora? Do you remember last summer, when Maude nearly died in childbirth? She was stricken with childbed fever, and for nigh on a week, she suffered the torments of the damned. I was there at Rouen; I saw her agony. We were sure she was dying. So was she, and she told us she wanted to be buried at the abbey of Bec. But my father…he said no, that he would have her buried in Rouen. Even on her deathbed, Annora, she was given no say.”
Annora reached up, put her fingers to his lips. “I yield. You’ve convinced me that some of Maude’s blessings have been bittersweet. But I still think she brought much of her trouble on herself. If she’d not been so haughty, if she’d been more tactful, more womanly-”
Ranulf laughed rudely. “Like you? Sweetheart, I’d back your claws against Maude’s any day!”
Annora pretended to pout. “I suppose you’d prefer a meek little lamb like the Lady Matilda-oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth, as if to catch her heedless words. The gesture was affected, but her remorse was real. “I ought not to have said that,” she said contritely. “My heart goes out to Matilda, Ranulf, truly it does. I can think of no greater grief than the loss of a child…”
Ranulf nodded somberly, and for a moment, they both were silent, thinking of the sudden death that summer of Stephen and Matilda’s son. Theirs was an age in which too many cemeteries held pitifully small graves; one of every three children never even reached the age of five. But Baldwin had been their firstborn, a lively, clever nine- year-old whose death had left a huge, ragged hole in their lives.
“Their grieving was painful to look upon,” Ranulf said sadly. “They buried him in London, at Holy Trinity Priory. They’re in Boulogne now; I’ve seen them just once since their return. They’ll probably come to Rouen, though, for my father’s Christmas court. Indeed, I do hope so. Mayhap it would cheer them somewhat, being at the revelries,” he said, with the well-intentioned, misguided optimism of youth, and sought to banish Death’s spectre then, by focusing all his attention upon the girl on his lap.
Annora cooperated so enthusiastically that the shadow of Stephen and Matilda’s small son soon receded, unable to compete with the lure of smooth, female flesh, soft curves, and the fragrance of jasmine. After a time, they broke apart by mutual consent, breathing deeply, and smiled at each other. Ranulf had begun to stroke her cheek, and Annora gave a contented sigh; as exciting as it was when the fire burned hot between them, she also took pleasure in quiet moments like this, for Ranulf could be gentle, too.
They talked idly of the upcoming Christmas revelries, and then Annora related the latest Paris scandal. Ranulf was not surprised that she should be so well informed about the bed-roving of the French nobility; Annora adored gossip the way a child craved sweets. But he was momentarily at a loss when she insisted, “Now you owe me some good gossip in return-and it has to make me blush or it does not count.”
Ranulf pondered for a moment. “Well…Queen Adeliza’s confessor is said to be smitten with one of her ladies-in-waiting, following the lass about like a lovesick swain-”
“Ah, Ranulf, Ranulf…you’ll have to do better than that. The Church can preach chastity for its priests from now till Judgment Day, and that will not change the fact that half the clerics in Christendom have wives or hearthmates. Jesu, what of the Bishop of Salisbury, the old king’s justiciar? He’s openly kept a concubine for thirty years, even got their bastard son appointed chancellor. No, my lad, you’d best look farther afield for scandal. Catching wayward priests is like spearing fish in a barrel; there is no sport in it.”
Ranulf laughed softly, pulling her back into his arms. “We’ll just have to make our own scandal then,” he said, and began to kiss her again. But the dogs were barking out in the bailey, and they reluctantly drew apart, hurriedly adjusting their clothing.
“I suppose that will be Fulk,” Ranulf said glumly, for there would be no dalliance with Annora as long as her elder brother was on hand. But the brother who now burst into the stable wasn’t Fulk; it was Ancel, who should have been at Lyons-la-Foret with Robert and the royal hunting party.
“Ancel? What are you doing here?”
“Your brother sent me to fetch you straightaway. It is your lord father, Ranulf…He was taken ill soon after we arrived at the hunting lodge.”
“How ill? Ancel…how ill?” Ranulf repeated tensely, for it had not escaped him that Ancel had yet to meet his eyes.
“That is for the doctors to say, not me,” Ancel said evasively. “But Lord Robert said…he said for you to make all haste. He said not to tarry.”
Ranulf sucked in his breath, for he understood then what Ancel was so loath to tell him. They thought his
