from morning sickness when they are breeding, but Maude is, as ever, a law unto herself, and her queasiness comes at night!”
Ranulf swung around to stare at his sister. “You are with child?”
Maude nodded, and Geoffrey moved to her side, striking the playful pose of a proud father-to-be. He might even be sincere, Ranulf allowed grudgingly, for to give the Devil his due, Geoffrey did seem fond of his sons. As he looked at them now, Ranulf could not help admiring the picture they presented, for whatever else might be said of them, they made a very handsome couple.
Handsome was a word often applied to Geoffrey, for not only was he taller than most men, he’d been blessed, too, with an athlete’s build and a cat’s grace. His hair color was a bronzed reddish-gold, his eyes a compelling shade of blue-grey, fringed with thick, tawny lashes, eyes agleam with sardonic humor, boundless confidence, and a sharp, calculating intelligence, yet not a hint of warmth.
As for Maude, Ranulf had to acknowledge that her youth was gone, for she was thirty-three, past a woman’s prime. But her age had not yet impaired her ability to turn male heads. Like Annora, she’d been cursed with unfashionable coloring: she had inherited her father’s dark hair and eyes. But she was more fortunate than Annora in that her skin was fair and flawless, and her features so finely sculptured that none could deny her beauty; no man looking upon the high curve of her cheekbones or the red fullness of her mouth was likely to care that her eyes were brown.
Indeed, a handsome couple. But did they think so? Did they find each other as desirable as others found them? For a moment, Ranulf tried to imagine what it would be like, making love to a woman he loathed. It was not an appealing prospect, and he decided that he’d not have traded places with Geoffrey or Maude for all the crowns in Christendom. How lucky he was to have Annora, to-Suddenly becoming aware of the silence, he saw that they were staring at him, and he flushed in embarrassment, looking hastily away lest they somehow read his mind.
“Well? Are you not going to offer your congratulations?” Geoffrey was shaking his head, as if lamenting Ranulf’s bad manners, but Ranulf had an uncomfortable suspicion that his brother-in-law knew what he’d been thinking. He stammered an apology, belatedly wished them well, and was greatly relieved when Geoffrey headed for the door.
As soon as they were alone, Ranulf smiled at his sister, eager to make amends. “I am right glad about the babe,” he lied. “When is the birth?”
“Not for months yet, not till the summer.”
Her smile did not linger, and Ranulf found himself wondering if she feared the coming birth. He did, for certes, remembering that harrowing week in Rouen. That was not something he could ask her, though. A faint frown had settled across her brow; the brown eyes were opaque, inward-looking. But then she said briskly, “The timing could not have been worse, could it? The English are already skittish about being ruled by one who wears skirts. Somehow I suspect the sight of a swelling belly beneath those skirts is not likely to reassure.”
As always, Ranulf was impressed by her candor. “Well,” he said, “they shall have to get used to it. And I may as well confess that I’m looking forward to watching as certain high-flying lords get their wings clipped!”
So was Maude. “Anyone in particular?”
“The Earl of Chester, amongst others. He’s made no secret of his reluctance to take orders from a woman. Think how gladdened he’ll be to grovel before one great with child!”
“Chester is not a man to grovel, lad, not even to God. But he will pay me the debt he owes his sovereign, one of obeisance and fealty and homage. They all will.”
Ranulf felt a surge of admiration, strong enough to let him forget his own past qualms about her queenship. How many women could face such a formidable challenge with so much fortitude? For that matter, most men would have been daunted, too, by the demands that were about to be made upon his sister. “Your coronation will be but the beginning. Your greatest trials will be still to come. Maude…does it not scare you at all, knowing the troubles that lie ahead?”
“Scare me?” she echoed, sounding genuinely surprised. “Ah, no, Ranulf, I do not fear. I know it will not be easy. I know there will be men who’d be content that I merely reign, not rule. But I will rule-by God, I will. The Crown of England is a burden and a blessing and my birthright. To me, it means…”
She paused, and Ranulf waited, curious to hear how she would complete the sentence: power? duty? opportunity? But then she smiled, a smile he would long remember, for it was the smile of a hopeful, eager young girl, not a woman widowed and disenchanted and wretchedly wed. “It means,” she said, “freedom.”
Supper that evening was as sumptuous as Maude had promised. Her cooks had to confine their menu to fish, for the season of Advent was upon them, but they did themselves proud with Ranulf’s pike, gingered carp, white trout in mustard sauce, almond rice, roasted apples, marzipan, and cinnamon wafers, all washed down with ample servings of spiced red wine, hippocras, and malmsey.
Afterward, Maude told Ranulf of her plans. She meant to depart on the morrow for Normandy. The Vicomte Guigan Algason had sent word that he wanted to do homage to her for his holdings in Argentan, Domfront, and Exmes. She would be pleased, she added, to have Ranulf at her side upon her entry into Argentan. Ranulf assured her that he would be honored to witness Algason’s submission to his new duchess, and then asked, as tactfully as he could, if Geoffrey would be accompanying them. To his vast relief, Maude said that Geoffrey had agreed-for the present-to remain in Angers.
Ranulf could not say so, of course, but he thought that was a shrewd tactical move; the Norman barons would be much more likely to acknowledge Maude’s suzerainty if she was not encumbered by the unwelcome presence of her detested Angevin husband. Thank the Lord Christ that Geoffrey was choosing to be so accommodating, to get Maude’s reign off to the best possible beginning. But how long was his cooperation likely to last? And how could they stop him when he decided to take his rightful place at her side as husband, consort,…or even, God forbid, king?
“I have been trying to decide which of my lords I can rely upon and which of them will seek to take advantage of me if I let them. Hear me out, Ranulf, and see if you agree with my conclusions.”
Ranulf nodded, enormously flattered that Maude should see him as a worthy confidant. “I’m no soothsayer, but I’d wager I can name the chief prop of your throne,” he predicted, unable to resist this small jab at Geoffrey. “Robert.”
“Robert,” Maude echoed, “Robert first and foremost. And then my uncle David; I am indeed blessed that my lady mother was sister to the Scots king. There are others, too, who will do whatever they can to make my throne secure. My cousin Stephen, of course. Stephen’s elder brother Theobald has rarely set foot in England; his interests are firmly rooted in his own domains. And the youngest brother, the bishop…he is too ambitious to be truly trustworthy. As for our brothers, Rainald is quite able, can be of great help as long as he reins in that runaway temper of his. And then there is Brien Fitz Count. You remember Brien, do you not, Ranulf?”
Ranulf thought he did. “The lord of Wallingford Castle?”
Maude nodded. “He is a good friend of Stephen’s, and like Stephen, he is a man of honour. He was utterly loyal to my father, treated almost as a foster son, and I trust he will be just as loyal to me.”
Geoffrey had drifted over in time to catch Maude’s declaration of faith in Brien Fitz Count. “There is that word again — trust. Passing strange, how often it crops up in your conversation, dear heart.”
Maude’s mouth thinned, but a cease-fire, however precarious, was to be preferred to outright marital warfare; that was a lesson she’d learned the hard way. “Then,” she said, “to please you, Geoffrey, we shall now speak of those I do not trust. The Earl of Chester. His half-brother, William de Roumare. That self-seeking constable of the Tower, Geoffrey de Mandeville. Waleran and Robert Beaumont.”
“Ah, yes, the Beaumont twins, double trouble.” But Geoffrey’s humor was wasted on Ranulf, and Maude was turning away to hear a servant’s murmur.
“A messenger has just arrived,” she said, “from England, from Brien Fitz Count. Did I not tell you that Brien would be amongst the first to declare his allegiance to his queen?”
Left alone with Geoffrey on the dais, Ranulf concentrated upon his wine cup, trying to ignore his brother-in- law’s amused gaze. But Geoffrey was impossible to ignore. “So…tell me, Ranulf, have you forsworn eating lamprey pie ever again? It is one of my favorite dishes, I confess, but it would have been in bad taste, I suppose, to have served it tonight-so soon after your father’s unfortunate eel encounter.”
Ranulf gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. Geoffrey was entertained by his silent struggle for control, but he knew it was a losing battle, knew how easy it would be to fire the lad’s temper-almost too easy, for it was already
