Isabella: Braveheart of France by Colin Falconer Read Free Book Online Page B

rushes on the floor.
    It is All Souls Night, and to celebrate, Edward has brought in some minstrels from Aquitaine. They sing on lutes about love and chivalry, all those things that once seemed so important to her.
    She does not see Gaveston sidle up to her until he is there at her elbow. He is quite beautiful to look at--it is disconcerting. He is dressed all in white, a lascivious angel with a scarlet belt low on his snake hips and rubies glinting on his fingers. “So, your grace, you would like to hate me, would you not?”
    “I bear you no ill will.”
    “But we both love the same man,” he whispers.
    “I am queen.”
    “And so you ever shall be. He only ever speaks of you in glowing terms.” She does not like the look on his face. She does not want his sympathy.
    “I do not understand why you have come back. The barons are united against you.”
    “Not quite united. Just Warwick and that old hog Lancaster. Burstbelly does not like me, but even he would not stand against the king. “
    “My Lord Lincoln should not like to hear you call him that name.”
    “I am sure he speaks highly of me also.”
    “Could you not provoke them so? It only incites them to further hatred. Our peace is a fragile thing, and my grace has done much to mend things with them. As have I.”
    “I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, even as I find them surprising.”
    “You find me unpredictable?”
    He smiles. “You are not quite the spoiled little brat that people say you are.”
    “You mean Edward?”
    “Edward is terrified of you.”
    “Now you are making fun of me.”
    He squeezes her hand. There is nothing in it; it is like something one of her uncles would do. Yet this sudden familiarity shocks her. “We should be allies, you and I.”
    “How so?”
    “We understand better than most others that beauty is a curse.”
    A flurry of rain comes through the roof, spattering the fire, which sizzles and smokes. The musicians in the gallery lay down their lutes as the room is prepared for the banquet. Pages with silver ewers file in to wash the company’s hands, a chaplain says the grace. The nef , a golden ship studded with jewels, and containing expensive spices, is announced by the herald’s fanfare.
    Isabella is impatient to know more about why Gaveston thinks them so alike, but first the squires must carve the meats and bring them silver plates for dining. It is only below the salt that they use trenchers.
    Finally she has her chance to interrogate him further. All innocence, he pretends not to remember what he has said. She almost shouts it at him: “You think me beautiful?”
    “The whole world says it. I find no reason to disagree.”
    “Edward does not think me beautiful.”
    “He thinks you are nothing else.”
    She feels her cheeks burn. How dare he?
    “Do not take offence, your grace. I understand your predicament.”
    “Predicament?”
    “His barons think the same of me, Joseph the Jew and the rest.”
    “The Lord Pembroke knows you call him that. You should guard your tongue more.”
    He shrugs. “Why should I when they speak of me as if I am one of the devil’s minions? I despise them. Do you think they shall ever like me any better, no matter what I do? Would you have me fawn to them?”
    “I am just a girl, Lord Gaveston, but my father has coached me a little in these matters, and he taught me not to break any peace unless you are also sure of winning the war.”
    “Edward is king, not Lancaster, and not that dog Warwick.”
    “I agree with you. But kings have lost their kingship before now, and Edward risks much for you.”
    The war in him is written plain on his face. “Do you know what it is like to love? How can you, you’re just a girl. You are given to this man you do not know and then you are asked to make the best of it. But you do not know love .” This spoken so fiercely that she shrinks from him. He is right: she has never loved so fiercely. By now the smile has dropped away and he