‘So that’s it.’ Eleyne’s eyes blazed. ‘I am to be given to this… this nobody, to win the Earl of Winchester’s support for my uncle!’
‘So it would seem,’ Stephen nodded, smiling openly at the Earl of Lincoln. ‘And of course, it will remind the Prince of Gwynedd that he is no more than a vassal of the King of England. Prince David also needs to be reminded of that fact occasionally, I gather.’
Eleyne stared at the earl, speechless with indignation. ‘Have you thought what my father and my brothers will do when they hear this news?’
John de Lacy shrugged, ‘They will do nothing, madam. I guarantee it.’
VIII
‘He’s arrived.’ Nesta had stationed herself in the window embrasure at first light. A large, ungainly woman, her wild brown hair barely restrained by her coif, Nesta had been born and bred in Chester and in service in the city since she was twelve. To serve the Countess of Chester was honour indeed. ‘Are you going down to the great hall to greet him?’
‘I am not.’ Eleyne’s fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.
‘You’ll have to go when they summon you.’
‘Not unless they carry me.’ Eleyne sat back in her chair, staring at the small fire in the hearth. It was three weeks since she had been told the date of her marriage; three weeks since she had seen Luned or Rhonwen or any of her own servants. When she returned from her interview with John de Lacy and his colleagues, she had found she was a prisoner indeed, not allowed beyond the walls of her solar and the bedchamber. Worse, she was to be waited on by strangers, employed for the purpose. There had been no chance to send letters to her father, whose impotent fury at hearing the name of her proposed husband had nearly caused a second seizure, or to Scotland. There was no possibility of escape, no way of finding out what had happened to her companions. There was nothing she could do; she was helpless.
‘If that’s him, on the horse in the front, he’s ever so handsome,’ Nesta went on from her viewpoint in the embrasure. ‘There, he’s dismounted now. Tall, he is taller than the groom. He’s very dark, swarthy, I’d say…’
‘Come away from the window!’ Eleyne commanded sharply, ‘and get on with your sewing. We are not peasants to run and stare.’ Her mouth was dry with fear; her throat constricted.
Nesta ignored her. ‘He hasn’t got many attendants. There are only four menservants and one wagon. I expect that’s your wedding gifts. He’s coming towards the keep now, and he’s, yes, he’s looking up.’ She giggled shrilly. ‘I think he saw me.’
‘I’m sure he did.’ Eleyne’s voice was icy. ‘Close the shutter at once and come away from the window.’
When the invitation to the great hall for supper came Eleyne declined. Minutes later Stephen Seagrave arrived, panting slightly, pushing past the servant at the door.
‘I am sorry to hear you have a headache, madam; however on this occasion I think you must ignore it. Your betrothed has arrived and he would like to meet you.’
‘I am sure he would,’ Eleyne replied quietly, ‘but I feel I must disappoint him.’
‘You mean, you refuse?’
‘I mean, I refuse.’
‘You will have to meet him tomorrow at the wedding ceremony.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Eleyne had not looked at him. ‘I have already told you, I will not marry Robert de Quincy.’
‘Indeed you will, madam,’ Stephen spoke through clenched teeth, ‘it is the king’s command.’
She smiled faintly. ‘I think not. If his grace wishes me to marry, he must tell me so himself. I will not take his messages from a lackey.’
She had still not looked at him and missed the glitter of hatred in his eye.
‘Oh, I think you will find lackeys…’ he paused as if to contain his anger, ‘have methods of making you obey them, my lady. Lord Lincoln has given me authority to use any method I choose to persuade you, so that he is not embarrassed before his wife’s uncle.’ He said it so quietly she could barely hear his words. ‘Make no mistake about it, you will be in the chapel tomorrow for the nuptial mass after you have made your vows.’
‘You’ve made him very angry,’ Nesta whispered as he closed the door behind him.
‘I don’t care.’ Eleyne closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. ‘The man is a fool.’
‘I don’t think so, my lady.’ Nesta had grown fond of Eleyne in the three weeks she had served her, and she had not liked the look on Stephen’s face.
IX
Robert de Quincy had found the ride to Chester painfully slow because of the wagon, and he was tired and bored. But it had been worth it. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. His bride-to-be was beautiful, young, rich and of the highest rank, so the king had informed him, in person. A forty-pound gift from the royal wardrobe had allowed him to order new clothes, a fine brooch for his mantle, two pairs of soft leather boots – and his hair and beard had been freshly barbered only this morning. Any future clothes he wanted, the king had assured him, would be paid for by Lady Chester.
That the marriage had been arranged by the king with cold impersonal calculation mattered to him not a bit. He put that firmly to the back of his mind. What mattered now was that Eleyne of Chester, and her dower, would soon be his.
He had looked up at the steps of the keep, expecting to see her waiting for him, but two soberly gowned men stood in the doorway. He could see no women at all, save the servants who scurried around the courtyard. He scanned the windows in the high wall. She was probably there, peeping, dying to see what her new husband was like. Smiling to himself, he swaggered slightly as he began to climb the stairs.
Stephen Seagrave bowed as the young man came level with him. ‘Sir Robert, you are welcome to Chester. I have sent a messenger to inform the countess of your arrival.’ He had summed the young man up at a glance: shallow, vain, and probably with an overdeveloped sense of his own worth as a result of his impending marriage. Stephen smiled grimly to himself; the introduction of the bride and groom would be a shock to both.
Robert grinned at him amiably. He accepted a cup of wine and walked into the great chamber, staring around. The king had never said as much, but it was possible, very possible, that when he realised what a worthy young man Robert was, he would elevate him as Earl of Chester and make him lord of all this. Another servant was whispering in Seagrave’s ear, and the man’s face darkened with anger. Without a word to Robert, he strode out of the hall.
Robert drank his wine and put down the pewter goblet. He walked back and forth a couple of times. Where was Seagrave? And more to the point, where was his bride? He felt his temper rising, he had expected a better welcome than this.
‘Sir Robert!’ When Seagrave at last returned, he looked angry. ‘I’m sorry. It appears that Lady Chester has a headache and doesn’t feel able to come down this evening.’ He smiled unpleasantly. ‘Her ladyship is an arrogant young woman, Sir Robert, used to getting her own way. She is not pleased, it seems, with his grace’s choice of husband for her.’ His eyes gleamed maliciously and his words were audible throughout the hall.
Robert’s mouth dropped open – he was too astonished to speak. Then his face suffused with anger.
‘Are you telling me she refuses to meet me?’ His voice was very quiet. He was conscious of the men and women around them. In the crowd someone sniggered.
Stephen Seagrave eyed him coldly and Robert received the clear impression that he was enjoying the young
