Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

"He pulls the wings off sparrows. " The ready tears spilled over again as the little girl buried her head in Matilda's shoulder. "He likes hurting things. He told me. And when I belong to him, he said he could hurt me. And he said he could make me cry. "

"Christ blast that boy!" Matilda swore under her breath. She exchanged glances with Elen over the child's head. "Listen, Isabella. John only said that to tease. He would never hurt you. He couldn't. After mass in the abbey there will be a lovely party, and then you are to stay with your mother and father until you're grown up. John probably won't come near you again. And when you marry him, years and years from now, you'll be a princess. You'll be the most beautiful princess there ever was. " She smiled down at the drawn, pale little face. "Come on, remember you're a great lady. Ladies must never be afraid. " She dropped a kiss on the tangled hair. "Now, will you let your nurse comb you and wash you and get you ready?"

"But I saw him. " The little girl was shaking still. "He pulled the wings till the bird screamed. "

Matilda shivered. "I'll ask my husband to tell the king. John should be whipped for such cruelty. "

"You promise?" Isabella rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I promise. " Gently Matilda pushed her from her lap. "Now come on, there's not much time. "

The nurse reappeared so swiftly it was obvious she had been listening outside the doorway. Half resentful of Matilda, half relieved that her charge had calmed down, she pushed her way to the child's side.

"Would you credit that boy, " she muttered as she stripped the little girl and began rubbing the frail body with a cloth wrung out in a jug where the water had long since grown cold. "They sat there yesterday, side by side, when his grace the king brought them together, neat as two pins they were, both scrubbed and combed, and we saw John whispering to her. Then he took her by the hand and led her away. Lady Gloucester was that pleased, she was. Then the child comes racing in, screaming the place down. The earl was furious, and the king. Then young John came in all innocent. 'I don't know, ' he says. 'I don't know what's making her cry. '" She pulled a clean shift over the little girl's head. Then the embroidered gown. Then she began to drag a brush through the delicate fair hair.

Outside in the solar the other women had been too preoccupied with the Countess of Gloucester's grumblings to pay much attention to what was going on in the garderobe, so when Matilda emerged, holding Isabella, now neat and clean and dry-eyed, by the hand, there was a moment's astonished silence.

"Well, " her mother said at last. "About time too. " Ignoring Matilda with calculated disdain, she went to take her daughter's hand. But Isabella snatched it away, clinging to Matilda and dodging behind her out of her mother's reach. Exasperated, the countess gave up without any further effort.

"Oh, for pity's sake, you go with the child if she cares for you so much, " she snapped. "Stay with her and see she behaves. I want no more trouble. "

Her heart beating with excitement, Matilda took Isabella's hand again and led the way out of the room. Outside she could hear the trumpet calls as the procession lined up to await the king.

St. Peter's Abbey was packed. They walked slowly up the nave between the lofty columns that vanished into smoky darkness high overhead, where the painted colors were still blackened and tarnished by the disastrous fire that had swept the church fifty years earlier. Matilda caught her breath with excitement and unconsciously clutched Isabella's hand even tighter. The abbey blazed with candles, and every light was reflected a dozen times in the finery of those who had crowded in to hear high mass. The air was giddy with incense.

The king was waiting for them in the choir with Prince John, splendidly dressed, beside him. With them was the tall figure of the king's justiciar, Ranulf Glanville, who supervised John's education, and the Earl of Gloucester, Isabella's father, with the bishops and clergy ranked on either side. The boy, John, stood quietly, his eyes resting on the tomb of Robert, Duke of Normandy. He looked as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Never once did he raise his eyes to look at the trembling little girl who stood at his side as the blessing was pronounced. Nor did he look up as the choir burst into a joyful hymn of praise.

Once, though, he looked at Matilda. And she was surprised to see a direct challenge in his blue eyes. Amazed, she stared at him for a moment, not believing she had seen aright. The look had been so quickly veiled. I imagined it, she thought, bringing her attention sternly back to her charge and to the sacred mass, but somewhere a shadow had moved in the back of her mind, and she felt a flicker of warning.

The celebrations with endless hunting and feasting lasted several days, and then at last it was time once more to move on. Richard de Clare had not come after all, to Matilda's intense disappointment.

She had seen the king only twice since the banquet that followed the betrothal formalities and the mass in St. Peter's. On each occasion he was setting out in the cold dawn on a day's hunting, surrounded by his barons and knights, William among them.

Once Prince John was at his side and again she felt the boy's gaze on her. This time he was thoughtful, even calculating in his stare, and with a shiver she pulled her cloak around her and turned away to her tent. But not before she had seen that strange challenge again flickering in