Stuart, Elizabeth (39 page)

Jocelyn
closed her eyes as he kissed her. It didn't matter what they'd been through.
She didn't even care who ruled England. She was a woman and wanted women's
things—
a
husband who loved her, children allowed to live and grow up in peace.

And
perhaps they would have it, perhaps they might yet have it all.

London, England, December 1154

The
great
hall of Westminster was crowded, hot from the press of bodies and the weight of
layers of heavy velvets trimmed with expensive jewels and fur. Everywhere men
and women wore their finery, making sure to see and be seen in this first
glittering assembly called by England's new king.

Jocelyn
stood beside the earl of Leicester, wishing she were tall enough to see what
was taking place at the front of the room. From somewhere beyond her vision,
men's voices droned as each great lord and then the greater and lesser barons
were called individually before Henry to kneel and renew their oaths of loyalty
and homage.

Only
Robert hadn't personally sworn yet to Henry. After the treaty of Westminster
was signed, and the terms announced last Christmas, Stephen had called all his
lords to Oxford in January to swear homage to Henry as England's next king. But
Robert hadn't gone. With the king's permission, he had sent Sir Geoffrey to
swear for him by proxy. Despite the fact that Jocelyn had urged him to go, he
had stayed with her awaiting the birth of their son.

Then,
just this last October, Stephen had taken a chill and in his weakened state had
quickly deteriorated. Robert had gone at once, for the king was a lonely and
bitter man. His son, Eustace had died the preceding August, just a few short
days after hearing the truce of Wallingford declared. Religious men claimed it
the vengeance of God, for Eustace had gone on a killing, plundering spree and
had ravaged the lands of the monks at Bury St. Edmunds.

More
cynical minds wondered of poison, for the mysterious death of his eldest son
brought the shattered and ailing Stephen to agree to the major term of the
treaty more quickly, namely that Henry of Anjou would be England's next king.
In any case, the treaty of Wallingford was signed, and in less than a year
Stephen lay dead.

Jocelyn
strained up on tiptoe now, trying to see around the men. Only a few minor
vassals remained to take their vows, for most of the lords had sworn. She
glanced nervously up at Leicester. "He has skipped Robert," she
whispered. "The king hasn't called Robert yet."

Leicester
was looking grim. "I know."

Jocelyn
drew in her breath. Was this wondering and fear and uncertainty never to cease?

The
voices droned on and then the ceremony was ending. Men everywhere were
whispering and muttering and glancing uncertainly toward the place where Robert
stood alone and waiting against the far wall.

Henry
rose to his feet and glanced around. "I thank you, my lords, for coming. I
see even Robert of Belavoir has joined us today. I am honored, sir, that you
should have found the time for us at last."

"My
time is yours to command, Your Grace," Robert responded calmly. "Just
as every hour of it belonged to Stephen of Blois while he lived."

For
a moment a tense and disbelieving silence pervaded the room. Then an excited
hum of voices began to build. Jocelyn shoved forward, heart pounding, pushing
between the men so she could see.

Robert
stood some distance from the king. He looked magnificent, bareheaded and
fearless, in the crimson velvet tunic with the golden lions rearing against one
shoulder. Jocelyn held her breath as the two proud men confronted each other.

"Come
here, my lord," Henry said. "I would see you kneel to me."

Robert
walked forward. It was quiet again, so quiet Jocelyn could hear her husband's
footsteps echoing across the floor.

"You
once said you would never swear to me," Henry said loudly. "Would you
dare still to refuse me my due?"

"I
would not swear then for I was already pledged to support England's anointed
king. But after Wallingford I did swear," Robert reminded him, "at
Oxford through my proxy, Sir Geoffrey Talmont. I consider myself your loyal man
already, Your Grace."

"Well,
I do not. You should have come yourself. No proxy is acceptable for an oath
such as that!" Henry snapped.

Robert
had reached the king and halted. "My lady's time was nearing for the birth
of our first child. With Stephen's permission, I sent my word I would support
you as England's next king." The corners of his mouth curled upward.
"Surely we have known each other well enough, fought each other long
enough, Your Grace, for you to understand I do mean what I say."

Henry
was still studying the man before him. "And you will kneel and swear to me
now?"

"Certainly,
if you wish it, though I'll be no more nor yet any less your man than I am
already. It isn't the number of oaths that bind a man, but whether or not he'll
be bound. I'm your man now and will be for so long as we both draw breath,
despite inconvenience or danger of the rantings and urgings of petty, troublesome
princelings."

The
hush in the room was complete. Jocelyn was afraid to move, afraid to breath...
afraid Robert had gone too far.

Henry's
eyes blazed at that last. Jocelyn dug her nails into her palms.

"And
is that what you thought me, my lord, some petty, troublesome princeling?"

Robert
held his eyes evenly. "No, that is what Stephen thought. I always knew you
to be the greatest danger he faced."

The
silence stretched tautly between the men. "And you were right, weren't
you?" Henry said. Then he was smiling suddenly, in one of his abrupt
reversals of mood. "Well, kneel to me now, my lord de Langley. I would
have your oath, whether you think it necessary or not."

And
as Robert dropped to his knees, Henry was shaking his head in amusement.
"I would I had a score of men such as you, de Langley. You might well
drive me to
distraction, but at least I do know where you stand at all times."

Jocelyn
closed her eyes briefly, began to breathe again. Her son would have a father,
for a little while longer, at least.

"What
did I tell you, madam," Leicester bent to whisper triumphantly.
"Robert knows how to play this game!"

Then
Robert was reciting his oath of loyalty and homage, and the king was giving him
the kiss of peace. Henry turned to go, met Jocelyn's anxious eyes across the
room and winked.

***

"Here,
Judith, give the boy to me."

The
nurse handed Jocelyn her wailing son, and the boy quieted immediately.
"He's been fed, lady, and was well content until just now." The woman
smiled. "He heard your voice outside, I think, and did wish to see you
before he slept."

Jocelyn
nodded and snuggled the boy against her. Robert was still at court but she had
left after the oaths were finished, hurrying back to the house they had rented
to check on her son.

The
boy laid his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes, sucking mightily on
his tiny thumb. Jocelyn studied her son with a mother's fondness. He was quite
the most gorgeous child she had ever beheld. He had Robert's beautiful hair—a
little more golden—and looked as if he might be developing her greenish eyes.
But oddly enough he didn't seem to have inherited the temper of either of his
parents, at least not yet.

She
carried the boy into her bedchamber, murmuring, even singing a bit, for she did
readily admit to being a fool for her son. Then she heard the noise of voices
and footsteps sounding distantly from the stairs down the hall.

She
smiled. Robert must have returned already. She couldn't wait to hear what he
had to say about Henry.

But
she was stunned to recognize a voice raging just past the door. "Out of my
way, fool! Who is the king— you or I?"

Without
any more warning, the king threw open the
door and stalked inside. Sir Aymer
Briavel was following, helpless and outraged, on his heels. "Madam, I
would see this boy," Henry called, "this boy who did keep me waiting
upon your husband's oath."

Jocelyn
rose up in amazement, holding her son.

"I...
I'm sorry, lady," Aymer stammered. "I told him my lord wasn't back
yet, but I couldn't keep him out."

"Of
course not!" Henry growled. "I'm the king and shall go where I
please, even into your lady's private chamber. By God's passion, do you fear I
would rape the lady and her own son looking on?"

Aymer
flushed. "Of course not, Your Grace, but it isn't right that you are here
without—"

"It's
all right, Aymer," Jocelyn interrupted to save the man. She bit her lip to
keep from smiling. "I do trust the king and am honored he has come to see
my son. You may wait outside."

Aymer
glanced at her and then at Henry suspiciously. Then he bowed stiffly and
withdrew.

Henry
was grinning. "I swear, madam, I began to think I would have to kill that
man before I got up the stairs."

Jocelyn
smiled. "My husband's men are loyal, sir, as you've good cause to know.
Besides, Sir Aymer is one who was in that church in Normandy."

Henry
frowned and glanced over his shoulder. He didn't need to ask which church.

"But
here is my son," Jocelyn said smoothly, holding up the boy. "We named
him Roger, after my lord's own father. Come, little one," she crooned,
"it's time to meet your king."

Roger
scowled at the king and the king scowled back. "He looks small,
madam."

"Certainly
not! He's just younger than your William by a good six months. He's fine and
lusty for a boy his age."

Henry
nodded. "My own son was born in Anjou on the day Eustace died. A
boy," he crowed, "when the king of France could get Eleanor with
nothing but girls! Was that not a sign of God's favor, madam?"

Jocelyn
smiled. Henry was certainly blessed with the devil's own luck. "Men do say
it was, Your Grace."

"I
say it was, madam!" He glanced about the room. "So your lord is not
returned?"

"Not
yet. He stayed to speak with Leicester and Richard de Lucy."

"Ah,
de Lucy... a good man despite the fact he served Stephen. Trustworthy, I think.
I've decided to keep him as one of my councilors."

Henry
was prowling the room, as energetic and restless as ever Jocelyn had seen him
in camp last year. She went to settle Roger on the floor in one corner. The boy
had some small wooden wheels Robert had strung, and he loved to gnaw on them
and roll them about. When she straightened, Henry was staring.

"Does
he truly accept me, madam?"

For
one insane moment, she thought he was speaking of Roger. "I beg pardon,
Your Grace?"

Henry
scowled. "Can he truly put aside the past? Can he accept me as king? We
did fight long and bitterly, and there were grievous wrongs... on both
sides."

She
blinked in amazement. "Robert? Why of course, my lord, he has sworn to
you."

Henry
sucked in his breath. "It seems almost too simple," he muttered,
"too tame an ending after all that has gone before. And yet I would have
him on my side and not against me. I must be in Normandy soon and would have
men here I trust. Christ's blood, and there are few enough of those!"

Jocelyn
lifted her eyebrows. "You heard him today. What he says, he will do."

"So
it has always been said of him, madam." Henry frowned again and glanced
away. "I've brought back some things that belong to him. His sword I left
downstairs with one of his men, but this I meant to return myself. I suppose I
can give it to you."

He
reached into his tunic and drew out something wrapped in blue cloth. Jocelyn
stepped forward and took it. It was a ring. A large square of onyx with a heavy
braiding of gold all around.

Henry
cleared his throat roughly. "I've heard it belonged to his father. Your
lord will want it back. To give to his son, I expect."

Jocelyn
stared at the ring and a chill shivered along her spine. This was the ring
Henry had taken from the hand of a dead man, a man he had thought was her
husband. "Yes, he will want it back."

"As
I said, madam, there were grievous wrongs—on both sides," Henry muttered.

And
that was as close as anyone was likely to come to an apology from Henry
Plantagenet. Jocelyn glanced up, held his eyes. "I thank you for bringing
it back. And for what you did after Tutbury and again at Wallingford... for
letting my son's father live."

Henry
smiled. "Well, I did try to kill him before, madam, but didn't have much
luck. Besides, I would have men remember something of me besides the fact that
in a fit of temper I once burned a church."

Quick
footsteps sounded outside. Then Robert was throwing open the door, looking
suspiciously from Henry to Jocelyn and back again. "You were looking for
me, Your Grace?" he asked sharply.

For
the space of a heartbeat, all three stood frozen. Then to Jocelyn's dismay, the
king began to laugh. "We've played this scene before, my lord, only a
little differently as I recall. Well, you needn't be looking murder at me this
time. I've not seduced your wife, nor she me."