Read Online When Christ and His Saints Slept by Sharon Kay Penman - Free Book Online

to conceive another child, and you could not do it. Your husband needed a healthy, living heir, and you failed him. So why should I think you could do any better for me?”
    “God will give me a son,” she said huskily, “a son who will be king. My only regret is that the child must be yours, for I would rather lay with any man but you! Even a leper’s touch could not be more loathsome than yours—”
    It was then that he lunged at her. But as fast as he was, she was even faster, and his hand just brushed her sleeve. She spun around and he thought she meant to dart behind the table. Instead, she snatched something from an open casket and whirled back to face him. “You will not hit me again,” she warned, “I swear by the Rood that you will not!”
    He took a quick step toward her and then froze, shocked into immobility not by her defiance but by the sight of that jeweled dagger glinting in her fist. His eyes narrowed, flicking from the knife to her white face, back to the dagger again. She was holding it too high, too far out from her body. She’d not had his training with weapons. Nor did she have his greater reach. Measuring the risk, he decided he could probably get the blade away from her without too much trouble. He made no attempt to do so, though. Her breathing was uneven and shallow; he could see how rapidly her breasts rose and fell. Perspiration had begun to trickle down her neck, into her cleavage, and a pulse was throbbing in her throat. She’d never looked so desirable, or so desperate. But it was as if he were watching her from a distance. Even his anger had suddenly iced over. And he knew then what he would do.
    “I have had enough,” he said. “The throne of England is not worth this. The Throne of Heaven itself would not be worth it. Our marriage is over.” And he turned away, strode toward the door.
    Maude was stunned. “What are you saying?”
    Sliding the bolt free, he looked back over his shoulder. “I no longer want you as my wife. Tell your women to start packing, for I’d have you gone by first light.”
    Before she could respond, the door closed, quietly, and that was somehow more ominous than if he’d slammed it shut. Reaction set in and she began to tremble. The dagger slid from her fingers, dropped into the floor rushes.
    “My lady? What happened? You look white as chalk! He did not hurt you?”
    “No, Minna.” The other woman shoved a brimming wine cup into her hand, and Maude drank gratefully, entwining her fingers around the stem to steady her grip. “He says…says the marriage is over.”
    Minna was dumbfounded. “He cannot mean that, madame…can he?”
    “No,” Maude said, as emphatically as she could. “Of course he does not mean it! There is too much at stake—the succession of Anjou, England, and Normandy. The scandal would be beyond belief. All of my father’s plans would be set at naught.” She paused, turning then, to meet Minna’s troubled gaze. “My father,” she said softly, “would never forgive me…”
     
    MAUDE spent the evening’s remaining hours seeking to convince herself that Geoffrey could not possibly have been serious. But she still slept badly and awakened at dawn, so tense and edgy that she decided she had but one course of action: to confront Geoffrey straightaway.
    Her husband’s squire could not hide his surprise, for she’d never before made an early-morning appearance in Geoffrey’s bedchamber. Geoffrey was already up and dressed; his high boots and dark-green tunic indicated he had a day’s hunting in mind. He gave Maude a cool, mocking glance. “Into the lion’s den? How brave of you, darling.”
    Now it was Maude’s turn to say, “We need to talk. Will you send Raimund away?” Forcing herself to add “please” through gritted teeth.
    He shrugged, dismissing his squire with a casual gesture. “Have you come, then, to bid me farewell?”
    Maude stared at him. “You cannot do this, Geoffrey. You could not be so