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  Gloucester nodded, his color, which had faded as his anger calmed, becoming minimally redder again. Alphonse blessed his own dark complexion, which he knew changed only slightly with his feelings and wondered irrelevantly how a fair-skinned man could conceal anything.

  He voiced that question aloud when, some time later, he had returned to his lodging and reached that point in relating his morning’s adventures to Barbara.

  She laughed and leaned forward to touch his cheek. “Foolish man, most have no feelings but anger to display, and they seldom wish to hide that. It is only younglings like Gloucester, who can still be embarrassed, and men with hearts who need to worry about showing what they feel.”

  Warmth coursed through him at the tenderness of her touch and words, but she leaned back and looked down at the work in her hands before he could respond, asking, “Are you sure he understood you? A blush can mean anything.”

  “Oh, yes, he understood. Gloucester may be young but he is no fool. I think Leicester is making a big mistake in not pushing every task he can onto that young man and keeping him very busy instead of offering him empty honor. Gloucester said he would speak to Leicester and determine whether there was any real reason, beyond those I had suggested, for denying us the right to leave Canterbury and visit Sir William.”

  There was a minute pause, and then without looking up Barbara asked sharply, “Are you trying to make mischief between Leicester and Gloucester?”

  Alphonse laughed. “No. It would be so easy, but why should I?”

  “To spite Leicester?” Her voice wavered uncertainly.

  “I do not act out of spite,” he snapped, “and you should say what you mean to me. If you wish to accuse me of causing a political disaster because I am angry with a lecherous little worm—”

  He stopped abruptly as Barbara giggled, looking up at him under her lashes while her head was still bent toward the embroidery in her hands. It was an extraordinarily provocative look and, oddly, removed any lingering doubt in Alphonse’s mind about her opinion of Guy de Montfort. Unfortunately, it also increased his anger at Guy, who would have had some excuse for what he had done if Barbara had invited his attentions. To hide the rage, he admitted it.

  “It is not pleasant to need to ignore the bruising and insult to my wife by a man—”

  “Louse—”

  This time Alphonse chuckled. “Very clever, my dear. You mean to imply I can do no more about Guy’s marks and insults than I can about those inflicted by a louse and should pay them no more mind. But you know that even if I wished to follow that advice it would be impossible. After what took place in Leicester’s chamber, I dare not allow you to visit the court alone without giving you the reputation of a wanton and myself the name of cuckold. Yet, if I attend you everywhere—which, let me say I am willing, even eager, to do—sooner or later we will meet Guy.”

  “We could stay here,” Barbara said.

  “You mean be imprisoned in these rooms?”

  “There is the town, and the countryside—”

  “I am not so sure we will now be allowed to ride out as freely as we did yesterday,” Alphonse pointed out. “And the town is small. We would be almost as likely to meet Guy in the market or inns as in the court.” He smiled. “I have only promised not to challenge him myself, not to try to stop him from challenging me. However, I do not think I will have that satisfaction. Young Gloucester needs time to think, but when he has it, as I said, he is no fool. He suggested that we accompany him to his keep at Tonbridge.”

  “Without telling Leicester?”

  “No, of course not. Did I not tell you I had warned him about stepping on Leicester’s toes by giving us an order to visit Sir William? He will propose the plan to Leicester, offering to make sure that we will not return to France or see what we should not see. Since Tonbridge is only about eighteen leagues from Canterbury, he will be able to produce us within a day if Leicester needs us.”

  Barbara laid down her work and cocked her head. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Alphonse asked, half amused and half annoyed by the astuteness of her understanding.

  “Why all,” she replied, her brows going up. “Why did Gloucester offer to take us to Tonbridge, since he cannot wish to protect Guy? Why do you wish to accept his offer? And why do you think Leicester will grant Gloucester’s request?”

  Because he could never resist the little tent that formed on her forehead with two bright eyes peering out, Alphonse jumped up and kissed it, then laughed as she pushed him away and demanded that he answer and not try to cozen her. His gesture had been quite genuine, but her accusation made him remember that she suspected him of Royalist sympathies, and to a certain degree, she was correct.

  Alphonse had no intention of playing any active role against Leicester, but he felt that Leicester’s wresting of power from King Henry was a violation of the natural order, despite the man’s nobility of purpose and character. So he had not struggled to find a polite way of refusing the young earl’s invitation to Tonbridge, though he saw trouble could arise from it. Nonetheless, he had honestly warned Gloucester of the danger of a rift between him and Leicester. There was no need to point out any of the details to Barbe, however. Having bent swiftly and stolen another kiss, which his wife yielded but punished him for by nipping his chin, he answered.

  “Gloucester issued the invitation because he is young and impressed with my skills on the tourney field. I think he wishes to practice at jousting and swordplay with me. I wish to go to Tonbridge because I have no more to do here and will soon be bored to death. Moreover, I am sure that, as the troops summoned to repel the invasion that never took place go home, and Leicester realizes I cannot be used to bribe Edward, he will become indifferent to where I go and forget me altogether. Then I can take Gloucester’s order to Kenilworth and see Sir William. That will fulfill all the pledges I made, and we can go home.”

  “But why should Leicester agree to let us go to Tonbridge?”

  Alphonse shrugged irritably. He had hoped she would not ask that question again, but he answered it. “Because he wishes to be rid of Gloucester, whose skill he trusts on the battlefield but not in matters of state.”

  To his relief Barbe nodded acceptance to that without comment. She did not seem to realize that Gloucester’s proposal held an inherent threat to his relationship to Leicester no matter how Leicester replied to it. If Leicester refused Gloucester’s request, the young man would be offended because the earl did not trust him. If Leicester agreed, Gloucester would no doubt feel he was not wanted here in Canterbury. As Barbe stared thoughtfully right through him, Alphonse’s relief dissipated. Gloucester’s invitation held promise of good too, Alphonse thought, preparing an argument against future wifely accusations. If Gloucester was away from Canterbury, he would not be constantly irritated by being thrust into the background, and his resentment against Leicester would subside.

  “I will be very glad to be out of town, away from the court, and at a country manor again,” Barbara said, sighing and focusing her eyes on him. “I was just thinking how strange it is that when I am in the country, I am so eager to come to court,” she laughed suddenly, “and when I am at court, I am eager to go to the country.” Then she looked down at her work again. “Of course, this has not been a happy court for a long time.”

  Not desiring that she apply her memories of the past to the present, Alphonse remarked that boredom in Louis’s court was likely to have the same effect, so she would not have to change her ways. She laughed again at that, held out her hand to him, and set her work aside. Something in her expression stirred Alphonse into instant heat, but when he used the hand he had taken to pull her to him, she broke away from his kiss, denying heatedly she had intended an invitation to make love. Then as swiftly as she had become angry, she recovered her gaiety, but she slipped from his arms, shaking her head, called him a lecher, and insisted she had only wanted his help to rise so they could go out to dinner.

  Alphonse responded sm
oothly, but he wondered if he was going mad. He had never in his life misread a woman’s expressions and gestures as often and as badly as he did with Barbe. Had love so warped his judgment that he saw only what he wanted to see and thus interpreted her indifference as desire for him? The idea was sufficiently painful that he did not really hear what Barbe was urging on him and only realized that he had agreed to take her to the castle to dine with the court when she bade Chacier tell her men she would not need their company because her husband would attend her.

  “I know I seem to have changed my mind,” she said, turning to Alphonse again and clearly finishing what she had been saying. “I was the one who first suggested that we stay here so as to avoid Guy. However, if Gloucester thought you desired restoration of your position with Edward so ardently that you would send me to Leicester to beg for it and beg for it from him yourself, will not others think the same? We must show ourselves and show our indifference.”

  There was nothing at all in the dark eyes that stared at her so intently and no meaning to the nod or the smile that curved Alphonse’s beautifully shaped mouth. Barbara felt like wailing aloud. Her desire for him was so strong and so natural that she had not even realized she was offering herself until he drew her up and kissed her. Terror had made her angry until she saw how she had hurt him. She had tried to soothe him with teasing, but he had withdrawn behind a blank mask and she could not tell whether she had succeeded or not. And it hurt to hurt him. It was like stripping the skin from her flesh each time she pretended indifference to his love. Yet it would be more painful to lose him altogether if he became bored with her devotion—or would it?

  To remain in the lodging was to confront that agonizing question anew every moment. Barbara was afraid to join the court, afraid that Guy, bad-tempered, arrogant, and convinced of his right to dominate, would accost her in Alphonse’s presence. If so, she knew Alphonse was clever enough to get around his promise not to challenge the young man. But much as Barbara feared the consequences of Guy fighting Alphonse, she was growing more afraid to spend a whole day alone with her husband. And then it occurred to her that Leicester would never permit his son to fight a stronger man. If Alphonse did manage to tease Guy into challenging him, she and Alphonse would be sent away…but that was what they wanted. So she pressed the point about dining at court and got her way.

  Since Barbara was not completely convinced by her own reasoning, she was not very happy with the lesser of the two evils she had chosen until they reached the castle and Alphonse almost collided with Peter the Chamberlain, who was leaving the hall as they entered. He turned about promptly, said Claremont was eager to speak to Alphonse, and led them toward the window embrasures on the opposite wall. There Simon de Claremont greeted them both politely and asked at once what reason Leicester had given for dismissing Alphonse from Edward’s service. Barbara hardly listened. She was content. In the French envoy’s presence she and Alphonse would be safe from Guy. A fool he might be, but not fool enough to provoke Alphonse under Claremont’s nose.

  Her attention was caught when the envoy hawked crossly and said he could not understand why Leicester had bothered to plead with Louis to send emissaries if he intended to present peace proposals that were little more than ultimatums.

  “Some peace must be made,” she said seriously. “With the king and prince his prisoners, one must expect Leicester’s terms to demand approval of what he fought for in the first place.”

  Claremont looked down his aristocratic nose. “I did not know that so many nobles and commons of England took the field and risked their lives to obtain a settlement of Leicester’s claims against King Henry for his expenses in Gascony twenty years ago.”

  “Oh, dear.” Barbara sighed, then smiled. “Has that problem reared its hoary and ugly head again? But it has been put aside so many times. Surely that cannot really be a sticking point.”

  “The arbitrators Leicester has suggested are also too one-sided for King Louis’s taste.”

  Barbara’s reply was interrupted by a clatter of activity as the servants began to set up the tables for dinner. People moved toward the outer edges of the hall to be out of the way, and Claremont, not wishing to be trapped in the deep window embrasure, drifted toward the long wall on the north. This, to Barbara’s distress, brought them face to face with Leicester, who came from the large chamber on the north, followed by his cousin Peter de Montfort and his sons Henry and Guy. Seeing Claremont, Leicester stopped and bowed politely, sparing a nod and smile of recognition for Barbara and Alphonse.

  Barbara was relieved when Leicester only exchanged a few words with the French envoy before bowing again and moving away. Guy had sidled around toward her when Henry began to talk to Alphonse, but he retreated with a grimace when his father looked back over his shoulder and summoned him and Henry somewhat sharply. Nor did Guy approach her again that afternoon, but she was not certain whether that was because Claremont graciously invited Alphonse and her to join the envoys’ table for dinner or because his father had noticed his intention and reprimanded him.

  After the meal was over, several false alarms—when a loud voice or a tunic the same color as Guy’s seemed to be approaching—brought Barbara’s heart into her mouth. Each fright made her more and more resentful, and there seemed to be no relief in sight. Gloucester was nowhere to be seen, and Barbara jumped to the conclusion that he had been sent away. She later discovered her conclusion to be wrong, but at the time she felt as if a door to escape had been slammed in her face. So the next time the slow circulation in the hall brought her and Alphonse into company with the French envoys she mentioned their desire to leave Canterbury.

  Claremont only nodded and shrugged, remarking with a cynical curl of lip that he, too, would prefer to return to France, which made Alphonse explain hastily his promise to his sister-by-marriage. Perhaps Claremont listened more closely than it appeared and presented their complaint when he spoke to Leicester later. Barbara and Alphonse could never decide whether Claremont had supported their case out of pure good nature or simply to annoy Leicester—or whether he had mentioned them at all. It was equally possible that the earl had not needed Claremont’s prodding and had, for reasons of his own, been glad to accede to Gloucester’s request to let Barbara and Alphonse move to Tonbridge. In any case the very next morning a messenger brought written permission from Leicester for them to leave Canterbury in Gloucester’s company.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the weeks that followed, Alphonse and Barbara had good reason to congratulate themselves on having escaped Canterbury and the constant reminders of a hopeless impasse. When they first left, Gloucester had believed that some basis for a firm peace would soon be found. The hopes, however, were fruitless. Whether the papal legate’s violent antipathy to Leicester and the Provisions of Oxford had influenced the French king or, as Barbara and Alphonse suspected but did not say, some of the emissaries’ hearts were not truly in the negotiation, Louis would not support a peace on the terms offered. According to Gloucester, who came and went while Barbara and Alphonse amused themselves at Tonbridge, Leicester made several attempts to find common ground. New names were submitted as arbitrators—men less blatantly supportive of Leicester—and arrangements for the eventual release under adequate sureties of Prince Edward and others were offered. Nonetheless, by the end of September, although negotiations were still being talked of, even Gloucester acknowledged that little hope remained of reaching an accommodation approved by Louis of France and by the Church.

  This less than surprising news was thrust at Barbara and Alphonse by a mud-splashed, thoroughly out-of-temper Gloucester. The young earl had been summoned to Canterbury to consult on the latest changes in the peace terms. On his return to Tonbridge, he said no more than that at first, but the fact that he had clearly ridden away from the town and continued through a dark, wet day implied to Barbara that Gloucester had been offended. She rose from the bench on which she had been sitting with Alphonse and held out her hand in
a warm welcome.

  Barbara had become truly fond of the young earl. He had made a firm place in her heart not only because he was good-natured and had an earnest desire to do what was right but because his marital situation was not unlike her father’s. He had been married while still a child to the king’s niece, Alice of Angoulême. Barbara knew the woman slightly. Lady Alice had spent more time at court than her husband. Barbara had met her now and again while serving Queen Eleanor and did not like her. She found in Lady Alice many of the worst aspects of the pride and contempt for everything English displayed by her father, Guy de Lusignan, King Henry’s half brother.

  Nonetheless, Barbara appreciated the fact that Gloucester spoke no ill of the lady, who had borne him two daughters. All he had said when she asked, rather apprehensively, if Lady Alice would join them at Tonbridge was that he and his wife now lived apart because she could not bear his association with the Earl of Leicester, her loyalty being more strongly bound to the king than to her husband. There was an unspoken hurt under the stiff statement that called to Barbara to offer comfort, and she did.

  For his part, Gloucester seemed to return Barbara’s affection. Fortunately, he so plainly regarded her as an “older woman”, beyond the pale as much because she was like an aunt or older sister as because she was the wife of a friend, that even a far duller husband than Alphonse could not have been jealous. Barbara found Gloucester’s attitude both amusing and comfortable.

  Gloucester, who had been stamping across the floor as if he were treading on enemy heads, took Barbara’s hand and nodded to Alphonse, who had also risen to greet him. Then, in a calmer voice, he said that Louis’s emissaries had been recalled to France, and so it was now or never for peace. Barbara nodded sympathetically and Alphonse remarked blandly that it was impossible to get an idea out of King Louis’s head once it was in. Soothed by the pretense of his guests that his ill temper was all owing to the probable future rejection of the peace terms, Gloucester sank into the chair by the fireside and said that Leicester planned to make one last effort.