But Alys had been the most troublesome of his sisters by far. Henry kept finding reasons to delay her marriage to Richard, which was frustrating in and of itself. But then the rumors had begun to circulate that Henry was balking because he’d taken Alys into his bed. Philippe was never sure if the gossip was true or not. From all he’d heard, Henry had gone through life like a stag in rut, but he was far from a fool, and seducing a French princess who was his own son’s betrothed would have been quite mad. Philippe had recognized a golden opportunity to make good use of these rumors, though, for he’d been seeking to estrange Richard from his father, just as he’d done with Richard’s brothers. So he’d seen to it that Richard heard the stories, sure that would keep Richard from reconciling with Henry as he’d so often done in the past. Instead, Richard had turned that weapon against him after becoming king, declaring that he could not wed a woman who was reputed to be his father’s concubine.
Four years after their confrontation in Messina, Philippe still fumed at the memory, one of the most mortifying moments of his life. His alliance with Richard had always been a precarious one, for they were too unlike for a genuine friendship. But it was not until Richard’s rejection of Alys that his hatred of the English king had become so intense, so all-consuming. And although he realized it was unfair, some of his anger had spilled over onto Alys, too, a living symbol of the way those accursed Angevins had mocked and shamed the French Crown. He’d continued to press for her return, of course. But now what was he going to do with her?
PHILIPPE WAS STANDING IN front of his command tent, watching the horizon for the telltale dust cloud that would herald the approach of his sister’s escort. His bodyguards hovered nearby, but gave him space, aware of his preoccupied mood. The Bishop of Beauvais showed no such sensitivity, strolling over to say with a grin, “Soon now, eh? I suppose it would be rude to ask her outright if she’d been bedded by the old king.”
“It would,” Philippe said tersely. He was grateful to his cousin for all he’d done to make life difficult for Richard in the Holy Land and for helping to rid him of Ingeborg. He also valued the bishop as a superb soldier, more at home on the battlefield than behind an altar. But Beauvais’s sense of humor could be a trial at times.
“I was jesting, Cousin,” Beauvais said mildly, although he could not keep from rolling his eyes, thinking Philippe would not recognize a joke if he fell over one in the road. “The best place to hide an embarrassment is behind convent walls. I can suggest several nunneries if you’d like.”
“That will not be necessary. I decided that marriage would be a better solution than having her take holy vows.”
“Good luck finding a husband for her. Whether she was Henry’s concubine or not, she’s still damaged goods and well past her youth.”
“As it happens, I’ve already found one.” Philippe permitted himself a faint, satisfied smile. “Guillaume, the Count of Ponthieu.”
“Ponthieu? How’d you manage that? She’s old enough to be his mother!”
“She is also the sister of the French king. And I promised him that I’d give her the county of Eu and the castle at Arques as her marriage portion, which he found very appealing.”
“I daresay he did. But I thought you agreed to renounce any claim to Eu and Arques as part of the peace terms with Richard.”
Philippe shrugged. “It must have slipped my mind.”
Beauvais laughed. “I’m considered the cynic in the family, but I think you could give me lessons, Cousin!”
Philippe’s brows drew together, for he did not see his actions as cynical. He was merely doing what had to be done, what was best for France. And if Alys failed to give Ponthieu an heir and his lands then escheated to the Crown, so much the better. Just then a shout warned of approaching riders. “Stay to welcome her with me,” he instructed the other man. “I was four years old when she was sent off to the Angevin court, so she is a stranger to me in all but blood. I just hope I can recognize her.”
“I can help with that,” Beauvais said as the escort came into view. “There are only three women. One is too old to be Alys and the other one is too plain. Look at that receding chin and small, pinched mouth. Can you see Henry lusting after her? No, the pretty lass in the green mantle must be your sister and my cousin.”
He was proven to be right a few moments later as the women were assisted to dismount. As soon as Alys was out of her sidesaddle, she sank down in a graceful curtsy, saying, “My lord king.” Philippe was disconcerted by what she did next, though. Casting propriety to the winds, she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Brother, I am so happy to be home!”
He patted her shoulder. “I am glad you are home, too, Alys.” When he introduced her to their cousin, she pleased Beauvais by curtsying again and kissing his ring respectfully. An awkward silence fell then, broken only when Philippe said briskly, “You must be hungry. There is a meal waiting for you in my tent.”