Read Online The Battle of the Queens by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online
Authors: Jean Plaidy
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had brought her.
Then he was thoughtful and asked how her mother fared.
‘Well, my lord,’ she answered.
He nodded slowly.
‘I heard of her widowhood,’ he said, and fell silent. It did not occur to her then to tell him that her mother was close by at Angoulême.
He was thoughtful after that and when the meal was over he went away with his stewards and occupied himself in learning what had happened in the castle during his absence.
Joan went to her bedchamber, but not to sleep.
This was the most important day of her life. She had met her future husband.
A warm happiness suffused her. She was not afraid any more. Indeed she was looking forward to the day when she would become the Countess of Lusignan. Sometimes she thought of her terrifying father and it had occurred to her long ago, before she came to France, that it might one day be her lot to have such a husband. There could not be a man less like King John than Hugh le Brun, Count of Lusignan, and that was a matter for rejoicing.
They rode out together; she wanted to show him how well she knew his forests, how she could manage a horse. She wanted to please him in every way.
They spoke in French together for she had become fluent in the language; he went to the schoolroom and examined her work. She told him that now he was home she would work harder because she was so anxious to grow up quickly.
He smiled greatly and stroked her hair when she told him that, and she felt tears in her eyes but she was not sure why.
They played chess together and although she could not checkmate him she could come quite near to it.
‘I can see I am lucky in my bride,’ he told her.
And she answered: ‘And I in my bridegroom.’
The ladies and gentlemen of the castle looked on indulgently.
‘This will be a love match,’ they said.
Isabella came riding into the castle.
‘Is it true then?’ she cried. ‘The Count has returned?’
She was assured that it was true.
‘Tell him I am come,’ she said.
But the Count was hunting with a party in the forest and with him was the Lady Joan.
Impatiently she strode up and down the great hall.
Her cheeks were flushed; she had loosened her dark hair. Was it true that she looked like a young girl? She had borne five children; she had had many lovers; she had lived through twenty years of debauchery with the insatiable John. Could it really be that she looked like that young girl who had so enchanted Hugh that when he had lost her he had been prepared to go to war and had never taken another bride.
She believed she was as attractive as ever – more so for her experience. And he was no longer the young idealist he had been. He knew more of the world. He would want an experienced woman not an innocent young girl.
And what was she thinking? He was betrothed to her daughter. She laughed aloud at that. It was a trick of John’s to upset her. Was it not characteristic of him that he should think of betrothing her daughter to the man he knew she still thought of?
Why did he not come? What was he waiting for?
One of the women came to her.
‘You will be pleased, my lady,’ she said. ‘The Count is much taken with your daughter. They are often together and it gives us all great happiness to see them.’
Fool! thought Isabella and found it hard to stop herself slapping the woman’s face.
‘Is that so?’ she answered slowly. ‘The Count must be as gallant and courteous to ladies as he ever was.’
‘Oh, he is, my lady; and the little Lady Joan has a look of you when you were her age.’
What is the woman suggesting? she asked herself. That I am old and decrepit!
‘Leave me,’ said Isabella coldly.
There was a fierce determination in her heart. He was going to be as enamoured of her now as he had been when she was his child-betrothed, before she had been snatched away by the rapacious John who had given her a crown.
It seemed a long time before the party arrived.
She stood in the centre of the hall, waiting.
And
Then he was thoughtful and asked how her mother fared.
‘Well, my lord,’ she answered.
He nodded slowly.
‘I heard of her widowhood,’ he said, and fell silent. It did not occur to her then to tell him that her mother was close by at Angoulême.
He was thoughtful after that and when the meal was over he went away with his stewards and occupied himself in learning what had happened in the castle during his absence.
Joan went to her bedchamber, but not to sleep.
This was the most important day of her life. She had met her future husband.
A warm happiness suffused her. She was not afraid any more. Indeed she was looking forward to the day when she would become the Countess of Lusignan. Sometimes she thought of her terrifying father and it had occurred to her long ago, before she came to France, that it might one day be her lot to have such a husband. There could not be a man less like King John than Hugh le Brun, Count of Lusignan, and that was a matter for rejoicing.
They rode out together; she wanted to show him how well she knew his forests, how she could manage a horse. She wanted to please him in every way.
They spoke in French together for she had become fluent in the language; he went to the schoolroom and examined her work. She told him that now he was home she would work harder because she was so anxious to grow up quickly.
He smiled greatly and stroked her hair when she told him that, and she felt tears in her eyes but she was not sure why.
They played chess together and although she could not checkmate him she could come quite near to it.
‘I can see I am lucky in my bride,’ he told her.
And she answered: ‘And I in my bridegroom.’
The ladies and gentlemen of the castle looked on indulgently.
‘This will be a love match,’ they said.
Isabella came riding into the castle.
‘Is it true then?’ she cried. ‘The Count has returned?’
She was assured that it was true.
‘Tell him I am come,’ she said.
But the Count was hunting with a party in the forest and with him was the Lady Joan.
Impatiently she strode up and down the great hall.
Her cheeks were flushed; she had loosened her dark hair. Was it true that she looked like a young girl? She had borne five children; she had had many lovers; she had lived through twenty years of debauchery with the insatiable John. Could it really be that she looked like that young girl who had so enchanted Hugh that when he had lost her he had been prepared to go to war and had never taken another bride.
She believed she was as attractive as ever – more so for her experience. And he was no longer the young idealist he had been. He knew more of the world. He would want an experienced woman not an innocent young girl.
And what was she thinking? He was betrothed to her daughter. She laughed aloud at that. It was a trick of John’s to upset her. Was it not characteristic of him that he should think of betrothing her daughter to the man he knew she still thought of?
Why did he not come? What was he waiting for?
One of the women came to her.
‘You will be pleased, my lady,’ she said. ‘The Count is much taken with your daughter. They are often together and it gives us all great happiness to see them.’
Fool! thought Isabella and found it hard to stop herself slapping the woman’s face.
‘Is that so?’ she answered slowly. ‘The Count must be as gallant and courteous to ladies as he ever was.’
‘Oh, he is, my lady; and the little Lady Joan has a look of you when you were her age.’
What is the woman suggesting? she asked herself. That I am old and decrepit!
‘Leave me,’ said Isabella coldly.
There was a fierce determination in her heart. He was going to be as enamoured of her now as he had been when she was his child-betrothed, before she had been snatched away by the rapacious John who had given her a crown.
It seemed a long time before the party arrived.
She stood in the centre of the hall, waiting.
And
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