A King's Ransom

Chester flushed darkly, for her defiance had been heard by all his men. “You flatter yourself, Madame. I would sooner take a badger into my bed!”

 

 

Constance curled her lip disdainfully, her outrage sustaining her as she and her women dismounted and were escorted to a bedchamber in the castle keep. It was not Randolph’s, and she could take a shred of solace in that. It was a comfortable, well-furnished room, one suitable for a guest of her rank. But she was not a guest. She was Randolph’s prisoner.

 

Juvetta and Emma fluttered around her helplessly as she strode to the window and jerked back the shutters. She could see her men milling about beyond the castle walls, stunned and demoralized by this unexpected ambush. Her hand tightening on the latch until her knuckles had gone bone-white, she spat, “Damn them both to Hell Everlasting!”

 

“Both, my lady?” Juvetta ventured, taking a hasty backward step when Constance turned away from the window, for she thought the duchess’s dark eyes were glowing like red-hot coals.

 

“Yes, both! My cowardly husband and that Angevin hellspawn he serves!”

 

 

 

WHEN RICHARD ARRIVED UNEXPECTEDLY at Fontevrault Abbey, Eleanor was very pleased to see the Earl of Leicester riding at his side. Despite agreeing to release the earl in the January peace treaty at Louvières, the French king had delayed doing so, even after the payment of a large ransom by the captive earl. Richard was finally forced to seek help from the Church in compelling Philippe to honor the treaty terms. Smiling now at Leicester as he kissed her hand, Eleanor expressed her pleasure that he’d finally regained his freedom.

 

“I am gladdened, too, Madame,” he said, with a ready smile of his own. But he said no more than that about his lengthy confinement, and she honored his wish to keep the details of that unpleasant experience to himself; she’d learned from watching her son struggle with his own demons during the past two years.

 

Leaving Leicester, Guillain, and Morgan to entertain Eleanor’s ladies, Richard drew Eleanor aside for a private conversation. As they settled into a window-seat, she studied him with a mother’s discerning eye. He looked tired, and little wonder, for he’d all but lived in the saddle since his return from Germany. Even if he’d been besotted with Berengaria, she doubted that he’d have been able to find much time to spare for her. Her husband had been a restless soul, too, always on the move, but at least he’d had periods of peace during his reign. Richard did not have that luxury. Knowing better than to comment upon his appearance or to question him about his sleeping or eating habits, she smiled instead. “This is a pleasant surprise, Richard. I’d not expected to see you for another fortnight, not till your Easter Court.”

 

“There will be no Easter Court, Maman. Last month the Earl of Chester abducted Constance as she was on the way to meet me in Normandy. And, of course, the Bretons are blaming me, sure he did it at my behest.”

 

“Did he?”

 

“No.” He leaned back in the seat, stretching out long, booted legs. “I’d have considered taking her hostage had I thought the Bretons would have been willing to trade her for Arthur. But I knew they’d never do that. Nor had I given up hope of convincing Constance to yield the boy of her own accord. I doubt there was a mother ever born who did not want a crown for her son. And I’d not have gone about it in such a clumsy way had it been my doing. Treaties are made to be broken, but safe conducts need to be honored.”

 

“What do you intend to do, Richard?”

 

“Well, first I have to quell a rebellion in the making. Some of the more disgruntled Bretons have even dared to raid Normandy. And then I am going to try again to secure Arthur’s wardship ere Constance’s barons attempt to send him to the French court. Even sheep know better than to seek safety in a wolf’s den, but not those fools.” He frowned, shaking his head in exasperation. “Philippe would like nothing better than an excuse to meddle in Brittany. If he controlled the duchy, he’d be able to disrupt the sea routes between England and Aquitaine and use it as a base to launch attacks upon Normandy and Anjou. I’ll be damned ere I let that happen!”

 

Sharon Kay Penman's books