Read Online The Queen's Pawn by Christy English - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christy English
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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before you know it.”
“He already has, Your Majesty.”
I spoke low, my tone soft, but my bold words shocked him. Richard almost turned from me, but managed not to. A hot blush crept up his cheeks, and into his red gold hair. For the first time, I was reminded that he was only fifteen.
Eleanor laughed again, and I sat in the chair that Richard drew out for me. Unlike my father’s court, where all but the king sat on benches, everyone at Eleanor’s high table had a chair and cushions. I sank into this luxury, grateful that I was no longer eating on a bench in the nunnery, listening in silence while the Word of God was read aloud. I loved the Scripture, but in Eleanor’s court, I had already learned that I loved music more.
Eleanor sat beside me, and Richard took the chair on her left hand. He set about cutting meat for both of us, and was as gracious and charming as any man I have ever known. He spoke of the company, and of how the court was glad to welcome me among them. I knew that Eleanor’s ladies were not particularly pleased that I was there, as she forced them all to give precedence to me, but I did not correct him.
The queen knew my thoughts without my voicing them. She smiled her wicked smile, and changed the subject to the duchy of the Aquitaine, and of how Richard would be a credit to her there.
I did not listen close to this talk, for the meat was good, and still hot from the spit. I had not eaten much meat in the nunnery, only at Christmas and at Easter. The venison was succulent, its juices threatening to drip down into my borrowed sleeve. As I licked my fingers, I found Richard staring at me.
Eleanor tapped my hand, offering a bit of meat from her own knife. Though she smiled, her eyes were cool, her thoughts shuttered so that I could not guess at them.
Before I could wonder at the sudden change in her demeanor, Richard rose from his place. He laid his hand on Eleanor’s arm, and kissed her. “With your permission, Mother,” he said, his low voice courteous.
She waved her hand without answering him, which Richard took for assent. I watched her, though, and wondered if he was right.
I heard the strum of a lute and I turned, surprised, for the fruit had not yet been brought out. We were still eating the meat.
Mother Sebastian had taught me the manners of the court, as she had known that one day I would go there. She told me quite clearly that no musician came into the hall until the fruit had been served.
I met Richard’s eyes, where he stood at the edge of the dais. I felt the warmth of his gaze on my skin. Perhaps there were different rules in Aquitaine, and Eleanor had brought them to her own court at Winchester.
The hall fell silent as soon as it was seen that it was the prince who stood to sing and not a troubadour. Even the simpering women at the queen’s table stopped their gossiping.
Richard looked to his mother as if for permission again, and Eleanor bowed her head. The hall filled with applause at once, the polite applause that was required when a prince stood to raise his voice in song. Such a thing would never have happened in my father’s court. Even as a child, Philippe Auguste would sooner have cast himself into the fire than raise a song in company.
I leaned back against the cushion of my chair. I was shocked when the prince took up the lute himself.
“I would sing for my betrothed, if you would indulge me.”
I felt all the eyes in the hall on me then, but I did not heed them. I kept my gaze on Richard’s face. My breath lodged in my chest, and I thought I would not draw another.
Richard’s voice was sweet, the sweetest I had ever heard. A true silence fell over that hall as he sang. The nattering women and loosemoraled men stopped dead in their talk, and not because Richard was prince. When Richard sang, even those people could not turn away.
The song he sang for me was in the langue d’oc, the language spoken in the Aquitaine. I could make out only one word in
“He already has, Your Majesty.”
I spoke low, my tone soft, but my bold words shocked him. Richard almost turned from me, but managed not to. A hot blush crept up his cheeks, and into his red gold hair. For the first time, I was reminded that he was only fifteen.
Eleanor laughed again, and I sat in the chair that Richard drew out for me. Unlike my father’s court, where all but the king sat on benches, everyone at Eleanor’s high table had a chair and cushions. I sank into this luxury, grateful that I was no longer eating on a bench in the nunnery, listening in silence while the Word of God was read aloud. I loved the Scripture, but in Eleanor’s court, I had already learned that I loved music more.
Eleanor sat beside me, and Richard took the chair on her left hand. He set about cutting meat for both of us, and was as gracious and charming as any man I have ever known. He spoke of the company, and of how the court was glad to welcome me among them. I knew that Eleanor’s ladies were not particularly pleased that I was there, as she forced them all to give precedence to me, but I did not correct him.
The queen knew my thoughts without my voicing them. She smiled her wicked smile, and changed the subject to the duchy of the Aquitaine, and of how Richard would be a credit to her there.
I did not listen close to this talk, for the meat was good, and still hot from the spit. I had not eaten much meat in the nunnery, only at Christmas and at Easter. The venison was succulent, its juices threatening to drip down into my borrowed sleeve. As I licked my fingers, I found Richard staring at me.
Eleanor tapped my hand, offering a bit of meat from her own knife. Though she smiled, her eyes were cool, her thoughts shuttered so that I could not guess at them.
Before I could wonder at the sudden change in her demeanor, Richard rose from his place. He laid his hand on Eleanor’s arm, and kissed her. “With your permission, Mother,” he said, his low voice courteous.
She waved her hand without answering him, which Richard took for assent. I watched her, though, and wondered if he was right.
I heard the strum of a lute and I turned, surprised, for the fruit had not yet been brought out. We were still eating the meat.
Mother Sebastian had taught me the manners of the court, as she had known that one day I would go there. She told me quite clearly that no musician came into the hall until the fruit had been served.
I met Richard’s eyes, where he stood at the edge of the dais. I felt the warmth of his gaze on my skin. Perhaps there were different rules in Aquitaine, and Eleanor had brought them to her own court at Winchester.
The hall fell silent as soon as it was seen that it was the prince who stood to sing and not a troubadour. Even the simpering women at the queen’s table stopped their gossiping.
Richard looked to his mother as if for permission again, and Eleanor bowed her head. The hall filled with applause at once, the polite applause that was required when a prince stood to raise his voice in song. Such a thing would never have happened in my father’s court. Even as a child, Philippe Auguste would sooner have cast himself into the fire than raise a song in company.
I leaned back against the cushion of my chair. I was shocked when the prince took up the lute himself.
“I would sing for my betrothed, if you would indulge me.”
I felt all the eyes in the hall on me then, but I did not heed them. I kept my gaze on Richard’s face. My breath lodged in my chest, and I thought I would not draw another.
Richard’s voice was sweet, the sweetest I had ever heard. A true silence fell over that hall as he sang. The nattering women and loosemoraled men stopped dead in their talk, and not because Richard was prince. When Richard sang, even those people could not turn away.
The song he sang for me was in the langue d’oc, the language spoken in the Aquitaine. I could make out only one word in
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