one.”
Constance dampened down her rising excitement; did he think to win her over with an empty gesture? “So now I will have a seal to confirm your acts. How convenient.”
The bed shifted as he sat down upon it. “And to validate your own acts. Governing Brittany is likely to be as great a challenge as taming those lunatics in Poitou, and it will take us both to keep your Breton barons from running roughshod over the chancery.”
She was silent for several moments as she considered the implications of what he’d just said, absently sipping wine as she ran her fingers over the name carved into the seal mold. “What chancery?” she said cautiously. “It was abolished when my father abdicated.”
“And I plan to restore it straightaway. In fact, I intend to revive the ducal government as it was under your father. Some of my father’s innovations are worth retaining, such as creating the office of seneschal for each of the Breton counties. But I know I can improve upon-”
“Stop,” Constance begged, for the unreality of this conversation was affecting her as much as the wine. Did he mean any of this? But what did he have to gain by lying to her?
He cocked his head, regarding her quizzically, and then he grinned. “I know, strange talk for our wedding night. It is just that I’ve been waiting so long, and now we can start putting all these ideas into practice-at long last!”
Constance took another bracing swallow of wine, surprised to discover that her cup was almost empty. Geoffrey reached over, took the cup from her lax fingers, and padded barefoot over to the table to refill it. Watching as he came back to the bed, she said suspiciously, “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
Settling down beside her again, he passed her the cup. “If I were?”
“It would be a waste of wine. You do not have to seduce me, Geoffrey. I’m your wife now.”
“Yes, you are,” he said amiably. “But what if I want more than that?”
She drank some more wine to cover her confusion. “What?”
“An ally.” He saw that she did not understand, and sighed. He rarely second-guessed himself, but he started to do so now, wondering if it would have been wiser to have waited until he’d won her trust. Her cup was tipping precariously and he grabbed it before she could spill wine over them both. “I think you’ve had enough, darling.”
She thought so, too, for she was feeling light-headed. It was a strange sensation; she’d never even been tipsy before, never willing to relinquish control. “What did you mean about us being allies?”
“I just think it would be a shame if we did not join forces, for we want the same things.”
“Somehow I doubt that, Geoffrey.”
“Shall I tell you what your priorities are, Constance? You want to keep Brittany strong and prosperous, and to protect it from your predatory neighbors-the French cub, my brother Richard, and my esteemed sire. Oh, yes, and to provide an heir, preferably two. Did I leave anything out?” When she slowly shook her head, he said, “Well, those are my priorities, too, which is why it makes sense for us to unite.”
“I do not know that I can believe you,” she confessed, vaguely aware that the wine was subverting her sense of caution. “You seem to be saying that you’d put Brittany’s interests above those of your father, and why would you do that?”
“Because our interests are not identical, even if he seems to think so. I am his third son, and Brittany is all I-we-have.”
She wondered if it was the flickering candle flames, for his eyes seemed to change color, sometimes decidedly blue and at others very grey. “Prove it to me, then,” she challenged. “Tell me how you got Raoul de Fougeres to agree to hold the wedding here.”
“I am sorry, darling, but I have no sordid secrets to reveal. Raoul was quite willing to do it, needed no persuasion or extortion from me.”
She felt a sharp throb of disappointment. She’d almost let herself be taken in by his honeyed tongue and easy smile. “I am not a fool, Geoffrey! Raoul hates the English king.”
“I daresay he does,” he said calmly. “But I am the Duke of Brittany.” While she was thinking that over, he pulled his shirt over his head, and she found herself paying sudden rapt attention to his bare torso; the candlelight caught the golden glints in his chest hairs, played upon the ripple of muscles as he slid next to her. “I am going to tell you something that no one else knows yet,” he murmured, so close now that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I am going to dismiss Roland de Dinan, for he is my father’s man, not mine. Then I intend to create a new office-Seneschal of Brittany-and once I do, I am offering it to Raoul.”
“Why?” she whispered. They were lying together in the bed now, and she was faintly surprised to find that her arms had slipped up around his neck, that she was holding on to him as if he alone could anchor her to the earth.
“As I told you, darling, because I seek allies wherever I can find them.”
Constance had never felt so relaxed, so comfortable in her own body. If this was what wine did, she’d been missing out on a lot. “I would suggest, then, that you begin looking in your bed.”
“An excellent suggestion,” he said, and raised up on his elbow to shed his braies.
She moved over to make it easier for him. “Why did you not take all your clothes off ere this?”
“We were interrupted by that brawl,” he reminded her. “And then I thought it best to wait after that, not wanting to overwhelm you with my male magnificence right away.” When she laughed, he said, “Thank God, you do have a sense of humor!”
“Of course I do!” she said, but her indignation was soon forgotten, for he’d begun to kiss her throat. Her inhibitions and her wariness had been dramatically diminished by the excellent wine of Aquitaine and Geoffrey’s intriguing candor, and she delighted him by proving to be an apt pupil, quite unlike the bride he’d feared to be burdened with, the indifferent, inert virgin passively resigned to her fate. This woman was warm and willing and eager to follow his guidance, and he experienced far more pleasure than he’d expected to find in her bed. Afterward, he assured her drowsily that it would get better, but she said she had no complaints and then gave him a promising sign that their marriage would be a successful one, for she showed no inclination to talk as so many of his other bedmates did. Instead, she curled up against his back and went to sleep.
She awoke the next morning just before dawn, with a dull headache, a dry mouth, and total recall of the extraordinary events of her wedding night. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied the man beside her. He looked younger in his sleep, less guarded, and she realized that the flighty Enora was right, after all; her new husband was easy on the eye. Best of all, he was quick-witted and clever and ambitious. We will make effective partners. We will be good for Brittany and good for each other, and who would ever have imagined it?
The sheet had slipped, only partially covering him, and she smiled at the sight of his early-morning erection, then slid over until their bodies were touching. Still half-asleep, he responded at once to the soft female curves nestled against him, and they were soon entwined together in a carnal embrace. She suspected that he’d begun making love to her without fully realizing who she was, but she was not bothered by that. She may have gone to her marriage bed a maiden, but she was no wide-eyed, convent-bred innocent. She fully expected Geoffrey to stray, for that was the way of their world. She felt confident, though, that he would never shame her by flaunting a concubine the way his father had flaunted Rosamund Clifford. He was too shrewd to make a mistake like that. And as she gave herself up to the moment, to the sheer physical sensations that he was stirring with hot kisses and intimate caresses, she discovered that he’d been right; it did get better.
Henry had sailed for England in the belief that he’d patched up a peace between Philip of Flanders and the young French king. It was to be short-lived. Adele and her brother the Archbishop of Rheims had been reconciled with Philippe because of Henry’s efforts, but her other brothers, Thibault of Blois and Etienne, Count of Sancerre, were still disaffected. In an act of utter cynicism, they allied themselves with their former enemy, Philip, against their nephew. They were soon joined by the Count of Burgundy, the Counts of Hainault and Namur, and Philippe’s half sister Marie, regent for her fifteen-year-old son, the new Count of Champagne. Etienne was the first to strike, occupying Saint-Brisson-sur-Loire and then doing homage for it to the Flemish count. The hostile coalition was soon threatening Philippe’s precarious hold on power, and he appealed urgently to the English king for help. Once again Henry proved to be Philippe’s salvation, providing military aid under the command of his own sons.
Eleanor was jubilant when she learned that Henry would be holding his Christmas Court that year at Winchester, for her last two Christmases had been lonely ones, with the royal court at Nottingham and then Angers.
