THE LITTER CARRYING MAUD back to her camp had just come to the bridge, when she heard footsteps running down the hill behind her. Turning, she saw her cousin Stephen, his blue mantle streaming behind him. In one hand he held the Imperial crown.
The litter came to a halt as he approached.
“Cousin, here is your crown,” he said in a breathless voice. “You left so quickly I had no time to return it.” He handed her the gold circlet.
“Thank you,” Maud replied.
When he made no move to leave she became disconcerted.
“Was there something else?” She knew she sounded ungracious but at the moment did not care.
“Let me walk you back to your pavilion,” he said.
“Walk back?”
“Only a short walk, and it’s such a warm day.”
It would be pleasant to walk for a change, Maud decided. She was tired of being carted about in the litter, and missed the daily exercise of riding her mare which she had done regularly in Germany. Still she held back, reluctant without knowing why.
“That’s settled then,” Stephen said, without waiting for an answer. Before she could resist he had taken her hand and the next thing she knew her feet were on the ground.
He waved the litter away; they were alone on the bridge.
“Do you make a habit of enforcing your will on others?” she asked, undecided whether she was offended or amused.
“Never,” he said disarmingly. “Persuasion is so much more effective for it brings me whatever I desire.”
“Indeed?” Maud struggled to keep her expression serious. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”
“I’ve been assured that it is entirely justified.” Stephen’s smile was infectious.
He was impossible to resist and she burst out laughing. They began to walk over the bridge. Halfway across, Stephen took her arm and purposefully led her to the stone railing. His smile faded and he looked directly into her eyes.
“Do not be distressed by the incident with your father,” he said. “He meant you no harm.”
It was the last thing Maud had expected, and she felt her sense of dignity unravel. That he had sensed her distress, that her feelings had been so exposed, was even worse than his having witnessed her humiliation.
She carefully laid the crown on the rail, then forced a laugh. “Why ever should you think I was distressed?”
“There’s no need to keep up appearances with me, Cousin,” Stephen replied. “At one time or another we have all felt crushed by the King’s will and smarted under the lash of his tongue.”
Maud hesitated, still feeling the need to shield her vulnerability. But Stephen’s voice sounded genuinely concerned, and the need to release her pent-up frustration and bitterness would no longer be denied.
“To disgrace me before all his court—” she began, then stopped, swallowing the flood of impending tears.
“To disgrace you was not his intent,” Stephen said.
Maud’s hands balled into fists. “Why else would he treat me so? He did not even think me worthy of a proper reception in Rouen.”
Stephen looked at her in genuine surprise. “But that is easily explained. St. Clair has great significance for the King, for all Normans.” He pointed a finger at the water beneath them. “The banks of the Epte River were the scene of an unprecedented historic event. Over two hundred years ago, on this very ground, the King of France created Rollo the Viking, the first Duke of Normandy. It’s my guess your father meant to do you honor!”
“I did not know that,” she said slowly, then shook her head. “What you say makes no sense. What possible connection can there be between myself and the first Duke of Normandy? How can he hope to do me honor by forcing me to remove my crown?”
“I think, as well, that perhaps he meant to teach you a lesson. The King will not tolerate defiance.” Stephen’s green eyes danced. “And it was to defy him that you wore the crown, was it not?”
“And if it was? Why do you defend that tyrant?”
Stephen took a step back and held up his hands in mock protection. “As God is my witness, I do not defend him. But in years of experience with my uncle, I have found that—”
“You do defend him,” she interjected, cutting him off. “Sweet Marie, when members of his court came up to greet me none could meet my eye, nor could they escape soon enough. As if the King’s displeasure was a catching thing, like a wasting disease.”
Stephen was silent. “What can I say to reassure you?” he finally asked. “Whatever the King does, no matter how cruel—and I don’t deny that he can be cruel—invariably he has the weal of the realm in mind.”
Maud turned away with a despairing gesture. Walking back to the railing, she leaned over the side and stared down into the muddy water of the river. It seemed impossible that this rustic hamlet should ever have been the setting for a great event.
“Oh, what’s the use,” she said, her back to him. “You, who are so greatly admired by the King, loved and accepted by everyone, how could I ever expect you to understand? After occupying a position of authority and prominence, do you know what it’s like to be alone, an outsider, totally at the mercy of a virtual stranger?”
Two strong hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around. There was a look on Stephen’s face, a steely glitter to his eyes, that sent a shiver of surprise through her.
“I not understand? By God’s birth, matters were not always so favorable for me as they are now, let me tell you. My mother, like your father, is a strong woman with a will of iron. She never had a kind word to say about me, and finally sent me from Blois, not with her blessing but with a warning never to return unless I made something of myself. My father, a deserter and coward, died when I was small, and I have lived with that shame for over twenty years. When I came to England no one could have been more alone, more miserable for the first year or two. I had to earn my place in the sun.”
Maud’s rage slowly dissipated, turning to compassion and interest. Miraculously, he did understand. “I had not realized your mother was so like my father.”
“Were they not both children of the great William?” Stephen replied, with a bitter edge to his voice. “After all, how far does the apple fall from the tree?”
Maud darted a glance at Stephen’s face, which had suddenly become a frozen mask. She let the silence lengthen between them before speaking. “The Emperor always referred to our grandfather as that bastard, upstart Norman adventurer who would not have lasted a day against the Teutonic knights.”
After a moment she heard Stephen chuckle. “An upstart Norman adventurer, eh? By God, I would have liked that husband of yours. How you must miss him.”
“I do,” she whispered, noting that the frozen mask of his face had relaxed.
“Come, I didn’t mean to remind you of your loss.” He reached out and tilted her face upward. “Smile,” he commanded. “You have no idea how fair you are when you smile. Wondrously fair.”
Maud blushed and shook her head free. “After a difficult beginning in England you have done well for yourself, Cousin,” she said, anxious to change the subject. “Next to my half brother, Robert, I have heard that there is no more powerful lord in all the realm.”
Stephen gave her a boyish smile. “Perhaps, with God’s grace, to be more powerful still.”
“Indeed?” Intrigued, she waited, wondering what he meant. When still he did not speak she prodded him: “Tell me, Cousin. I would know of your impending good fortune.”
He took a deep breath. “In Germany you no doubt heard rumors that Queen Adelicia may be barren?”
“Yes, the Emperor mentioned that as a possibility. Do you believe it to be true?”
Stephen leaned over the stone siding and gazed down into the swirling waters below. “After three and one-half years of marriage with no offspring, what else can one think? The King, after all, has twenty bastards hanging about the court so he can hardly be at fault.”
“Of course, he’s no longer young,” Maud pointed out. “But in any case there is still plenty of time, my father doesn’t lie at death’s door.”
Stephen paused. “No. However, he’s no longer a well man, I can assure you, though I pray God grant him many more years.” He glanced around the deserted bridge. “The point I would make is that if there continues to be no legitimate son, what will happen to the succession when your father dies? If the Queen remains barren … there is talk that I am the most likely candidate. Of course, if you had been a boy the question would never have arisen—” He gave her a seductive smile. “But I’m most pleased you’re not.”
Maud then remembered the two emissaries who, five years earlier, had come to Rome with the news of her brother William’s death and that Stephen was the favorite to succeed the King. But her father had married again and she, like everyone else, had assumed another son would be forthcoming. She had wondered if her cousin was still a candidate and now she knew. Under the present circumstances, Stephen might well be the next King of England and Duke of Normandy.
He was regarding her expectantly and Maud gave him a tentative smile, determined not to let him see that she was disquieted by his news. Although why she should be she could not imagine. Perhaps it was only a deep regret that her father’s throne must pass to a nephew rather than a child of his own flesh and blood.
Setting aside her reservations, Maud gave him a mock curtsy. “So one day you may become my sovereign! I had better be on my best behavior. I’m glad for you, Cousin. Has the King spoken to you about his plans?”
A slight frown crossed Stephen’s face. “Not yet. I imagine he still hopes the Queen will produce a son. But the Bishop of Salisbury assures me, in confidence of course, that in time the King will tell me—and announce the fact to his court as well. After all, who else would he choose?”
“I’m aware of no one but yourself.” She sighed. “I only wish that my future was as well assured as yours.”
There was a moment of silence before he asked: “You have no idea why the King sent for you? He gave no hint in his messages?”
“None. A new marriage more than likely, what else would he want me for? I cannot bring myself to think about it.”
She felt the familiar surge of anger and frustration and her knuckles whitened as her fingers curled over the rail.
A hand grasped her shoulder and lingered there. “Perhaps the new husband will be to your taste,” Stephen said in a soft voice. “Young, stalwart, and a very model of chivalry. Try to look on the fair side.”
He did not remove his hand and the pressure of his fingers sent her heart fluttering like a captive dove.
“Let us not dwell on the future, either of us,” he went on, his eyes sparkling like emeralds. “In the next moment a bolt of lightning may strike us where we stand. We’re here now, and I intend to make your stay as pleasant as possible. You have a champion in me, always remember that.” His eyes met hers and a shower of sparks flew between them.
Stephen picked up the crown from the railing and handed it to Maud. In silence, they continued across the bridge. Had the sky become a deeper blue? Maud wondered. The sun a brighter hue of gold? Surely the heady scent of the apple trees, warm and sweet on the breeze, had not been there before? She felt vibrantly alive, buoyant, as if she could take wing at any moment. She had not felt like this for—actually she had never felt anything remotely like this. It was intoxicating yet unexpectedly frightening. She glanced at Stephen walking beside her, aware that a bond had been forged between them.
All too soon they reached the pavilion.
Aldyth was standing in the open doorway, a worried look on her face. “Where have you been, Lady? The litter came back quite some time ago.” She stopped in surprise when she saw Stephen.
“We walked from the bridge. Here is my cousin, Stephen of Blois, Count of Mortain. My foster mother, Aldyth.”
Stephen bowed, gave Aldyth a dazzling smile, and said something to her in Saxon.
Unmoved, Aldyth gave him a brief curtsy. Her eyes were wary; her head lifted like a hound scenting danger. She looked suspiciously from Stephen to Maud.
“Here.” Maud handed Aldyth the crown and, before she could protest, walked swiftly around the corner of the pavilion with Stephen.
“You know we leave for England tomorrow. Will you ride with me to the coast?” Stephen asked. “I can arrange for us to board ship together as well.”
“You’re most kind, but I’m not certain the King—that is to say, he may have made other plans for me,” Maud said.
“I will arrange it, Cousin, leave the matter in my hands.” Stephen laughed, a light, boyish sound filled with a kind of wild exhilaration. “I would be with you when you set eyes on your native land once again, for it was in England I first saw you.”
“Very well,” Maud said, her face flushed, her heart racing. It was impossible not to be caught up in Stephen’s infectious enthusiasm, his certainty that matters would go the way he intended.
They slowly walked around to the front of the tent, reluctant to part.
“Until tomorrow then,” Stephen said, grasping her hands. “I will come to your pavilion in time for morning Mass.”
“Until tomorrow,” Maud replied, pulling her hands free. She ran, flew, over the grass to the door of the pavilion.
Even after Aldyth had shut the door firmly behind her, Maud could feel Stephen’s presence outside. Within a few moments, she heard the sound of his retreating footsteps.
Later, lying in the feather bed, too excited to sleep, Maud realized that she had almost forgotten the humiliating incident with her father. Life seemed filled with promise once again. She even looked forward to returning to England now. Lifting cool fingers to her burning cheeks, she remembered the touch of Stephen’s large warm hands on hers. The realization that she would be with him over a period of several days was an unexpected boon.
Her eyelids had begun to close when she became aware of Aldyth standing over her. Maud opened her eyes.
“I was almost asleep,” she murmured. “What is it?”
“Something has been nagging at the back of my mind about that strutting coxcomb who thinks so well of himself,” she said, hands on hips. “Now I remember what it was.”
“You woke me for that?”
“Stephen of Blois is married to your cousin, Matilda of Boulogne,” Aldyth told her, with a smile of satisfaction. “Haven’t I always warned you? ‘Those who have honey in their mouths have stings in their tails.’”
Maud’s eyes opened wide and a bolt of disappointment shot through her. Sweet Marie, she had, indeed, totally forgotten.