For the rest of the day she did nothing but pace and keep vigil at the window. Darkness fell, but she continued to watch, and not long after the village churches rang for Compline, she saw the flare of torches in the distance. She left the shutters open just enough to give her a view of the bailey without being seen herself, and watched as the castle was caught up in the inevitable chaos and excitement that heralded the king’s coming. Henry was astride one of his favorite stallions, a big-boned grey with silver mane and tail. Riding at his side were William de Mandeville and his brother Hamelin. But Eleanor’s attention was riveted upon the slender figure of a woman, clad in a fur-lined mantle of fine scarlet. She’d known that Harry had been living openly with Rosamund Clifford since he’d been told of her part in the rebellion, but it had not occurred to her that he’d flaunt his concubine at his Christmas Court. Stepping away from the window, she closed the shutters upon her husband and his harlot.
Eleanor bolted upright in the bed, her breath coming in ragged gulps, her pulse racing. The dream had been terrifying. She’d heard muffled screaming, and when she opened the window, she saw flames engulfing the buildings in the bailey. She’d pounded on the door and shouted till she was hoarse, but no one came to let her out. She’d been forgotten.
The dream still seemed so vivid, so real that she shuddered. But that was all it was, a bad dream. Memory came back in a rush, the long hours waiting for her husband, waiting in vain. She’d not settled herself in bed until after midnight, and she’d stayed fully dressed, but eventually she’d fallen asleep. Throwing back the blankets, she went to the window, was startled to see that the night was gone.
A loud rapping spun her toward the door, but almost at once she realized that Henry was not likely to knock for admittance. “Enter,” she said, and felt a throb of disappointment at sight of the guard, for it was the same churl from the preceding day. Where was Perrin? He kept his gaze down as he placed her tray on the table, but he smirked when he saw that last night’s meal had gone virtually untouched. Eleanor ignored him, and as he picked up the second tray, she reached for the wine cup, took several deep swallows. Her back was now to the door, and so she did not see Henry come into the room as the servant departed. When she finally turned and found him standing in the doorway, she gasped and her hand jerked, wine splashing onto the sleeve of her gown.
Henry closed the door and leaned back against it. “Your nerves are on the raw this morn.”
So that was how he wanted to play it. Eleanor raised the cup in a mock salute. “I’d offer you some wine but the castellan has given me only one cup. He does not seem to think I’ll be doing much entertaining.”
He was still leaning against the door, his pose deceptively casual, for he seemed as taut to her as a drawn bowstring. “You are looking wan and careworn these days.”
“So are you,” she shot back, and it was true; his eyes were hollowed and bloodshot. She’d assumed that he’d delayed their meeting to torment her, but now she wondered if he could have been as loath as she to have this confrontation. Setting the cup down, she said, “I am glad you are here. We need to talk.”
“I daresay we do,” he said laconically. But she noticed that he was clenching and unclenching one of his fists at his side, evidence that his nerves were on the raw, too.
“Sir Nicholas de Chauvigny and two of my knights are being held at Loches by your provost. I would hope that as a matter of fairness, you will order their release. They have done nothing to deserve such harsh treatment.”
“Nothing at all, aside from treason and rebellion.”
“They are loyal to me, Harry. How can you blame them for that?”
“And you know so much about loyalty.” And without warning, the ice cracked, giving her a disquieting glimpse of the profound rage just beneath his surface composure. When he moved, it was so fast that she took an involuntary step backward.
“I’d always heard that women could become fickle and flighty once they’re too old to breed, but I never truly believed it-until now.”
Although she tried to hide it, she knew he could see that his words had wounded. They were the most dangerous of adversaries, intimate enemies who knew each other’s vulnerabilities, knew how to draw the most blood. She said nothing, though, watching him warily as he strode toward her.
“Did you truly hate Rosamund as much as that? Enough to tear our family apart because I strayed?”
“You think this was because of Rosamund Clifford?” She shook her head incredulously and then startled him by laughing. “You are good in bed, Harry, but not that good!”
The expression on his face was one of disbelief. “What grievance could you possibly have other than Rosamund?”
“Aquitaine! Richard and Aquitaine!”
“For the love of Christ, Eleanor! I’ve heard enough of that foolish babbling from our sons, do not need to hear more of it now from you!”
“You may have heard, but you did not listen. You never do. Dear God, Harry, you think you’re an easy man to live with? You suck all the air out of a chamber, leave none for the rest of us to breathe!”
He’d begun to move and she moved with him, holding her ground, so that they seemed to be engaged in an odd, deadly dance. “So you rebelled because I was not a good listener?” he jeered. “My sons are too young to know better, but there is no excuse for your betrayal. You were one of the very few people on God’s Earth whom I truly trusted! Raimon St Gilles came to me at Limoges, warned that you were intriguing against me, and I would not believe him. I was furious that he dared to accuse you of such base treachery-more fool I!” He drew an uneven, audible breath. “But if I was a fool, what does that make you, my lady duchess? It makes you my prisoner, for as long as I choose to hold you. And all for what?”
“Yes, I have lost,” she said, raising her chin and meeting his eyes without flinching. “But so have you. You just do not know it yet.”
“Indeed? And who is going to defeat me? That quivering mound of valor, Louis Capet? Our disgruntled fledglings?”
“You may prevail on the field. You probably will. But it matters for naught. You can win battles, not the war. You’ve already lost what you value almost as much as your kingdom. You’ve lost your sons.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl. “That may be so, but you’ll not be able to enjoy it. Whatever happens with my sons, you’ll get no more chances to poison their minds against me. I will never forgive you,” he spat, “never. You could beg for your freedom on your knees for all the good it will do you!”
“I’d rather die!”
“That could be arranged.”
“Yes, I suppose it could. You need only return to the great hall, throw one of your celebrated fits of temper, and demand to know why your lords and barons let you be mocked and defied by your troublesome wife. Ah, wait…you did that already with Thomas Becket. And it did not work out so well for you, did it?”
It may have been a trick of the light, or his pupils may have dilated, but suddenly his eyes looked black to her, and she feared she’d pushed him too far. He grabbed her wrist in an iron grip, and she felt a jolt of purely physical fear. She’d known that she was subject to his power, but this was different, this chilling realization that she could not hope to match his strength, that he could do whatever he wanted with her in this chamber and she’d not be able to stop him.
He was forcing her toward the window, ignoring her struggles to break free. Holding her with one hand, with the other he jerked the shutters open. Pain was shooting up her arm. Their faces were so close now that they both could feel the other’s hot breath on their skin. There had been this passion between them from their very first meeting. In the past it had always ended in bed, but she wondered now if it would end in the grave. Determined not to let him see her fear, she managed a taunting smile. “What are you going to do, Harry? Push me out the window?”
“Do not tempt me,” he said through gritted teeth. Pulling her even closer, he said, “Look out at the sky. Look upon the sun, for as God is my witness, you’ll not be seeing it again.”
She was still trying to free herself, and when he suddenly released her, she reeled backward, would have fallen if she hadn’t grabbed the table for support. By the time she’d regained her balance, he’d gone. Feeling as if her knees would no longer support her, she sank down upon her coffer. Her mouth was so dry that she could not swallow, but her hands were trembling too much to pour any wine. Jesus God, how had they ever gotten to this day?
Henry plunged into the stairwell so rapidly that he tripped and almost tumbled down the steps headfirst.
